


Make It Work!

by AngelOfTheMoor



Category: Project Runway (US) RPF, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Community: deancasbigbang, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2015, Fluff, Hate to Love, Homophobia, Humor, M/M, Project Runway AU, Reality TV, past abusive relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 01:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 68,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5028289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelOfTheMoor/pseuds/AngelOfTheMoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By some miracle, Dean Winchester has been selected for the latest season of <i>Project Runway</i>. Now, he just has to prove that being a mechanic/self-taught designer from Kansas doesn't mean he has no talent or taste. Oh, and he has to tolerate the presence of the stuck-up Castiel Novak. Not to mention the loads of drama he must deal with. Can he survive the show, and, against all odds, win?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: _Supernatural_ doesn't belong to me. Neither does _Project Runway_.
> 
> Warnings for homophobia and a past abusive relationship. Also, this story contains negative portrayals of John Winchester and Balthazar.
> 
> Wow, posting day for the DCBB is finally here!
> 
> Thanks are due. First off, to my beta for [consultingcas](http://consultingcas.tumblr.com/). To my artist, Fiver26, who provided the amazing art you see here! Her master post is [here](http://fiver26.livejournal.com/696.html). The master post includes sketches of some of the designs, which are not pictured here. Lastly, to the mods of the DCBB for keeping everything running.
> 
> Many of the challenges are inspired by or taken from ones I've seen on _Project Runway_. I used Heidi and Tim because I didn't want to replace them. Fans of the show will notice that I've changed some things (such as reducing the number of contestants) and taken some liberties. I did so to make the fic easier to write given the time frame. Also, most of what I know about fashion comes from _Project Runway_ , so I am in no way an expert about the subject matter.
> 
> Hope you still enjoy! Kudos and comments are welcome and much appreciated!
> 
> And finally, thank _you_ for reading! You can find me on tumblr [here](http://angelofthemoor.tumblr.com/).

_ _

_Meet This Season’s Designers! _

Aaron Bass, 21, is from Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, and recently graduated from Drexel University with a degree in Fashion Design.

Charlie Bradbury, 24, of Topeka, Kansas, graduated from Academy of Art University and currently lives in San Francisco.

Hannah Goodwin, 32, is from Chicago, Illinois. She earned a B.A. in Art History from the University of Chicago and runs a successful business on Etsy.

Jo Harvelle, 22, is a self-taught designer from Omaha, Nebraska.

Missouri Moseley, 52, lives in Taos, New Mexico, and owns Mama Mo’s, a New Age fashion shop.

Castiel Novak, 28, lives in Buffalo and attended the Fashion Institute of Technology (FIT).

Bela Talbot, 28, lives in New York City. Originally from London, England, she has a degree in Fashion Design from the University of Westminster.

Linda Tran, 45, lives in Neighbor, Michigan, with her son. She earned a B.A. in Marketing from the University of Michigan. She has recently changed her career to fashion design.

Cole Trenton, 33, is a veteran currently living in Fayetteville, North Carolina. After serving his country, he attended the Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD).

Gordon Walker, 32, is a self-taught designer from Red Lodge, Montana.

Gabriel Wild, 39, of New York City, attended the Rhode Island College of Art and Design (RISD).

Dean Winchester, 26, is a self-taught designer from Lawrence, Kansas.

 xxxxxxxxxx

As soon as Dean stepped into the airport, a woman waved a camera in his face and shouted for him to introduce himself.

So, donning his most winning smile and batting his eyelashes for the camera, he did.

“My name is Dean Winchester. I'm an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women.”

“This your first time in New York City?” the man standing next to the camerawoman asked.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“Whaddaya think?”

“I ain’t in Kansas anymore.” Dean threw his head back and chuckled, but the man and woman gazed back at him, stone-faced.

Tough crowd.

“Talk to the camera,” the woman urged.

“What should I say?”

“Tell us how excited you are to be on _Project Runway_.”

“Seriously?” What did they want him to do, jump up and down like one of those crazy-ass contestants on _The Price is Right_?

“Just give us somethin’ to work with,” the man snapped.

Jeez. He hoped these people would lighten up, or maybe this gig wouldn’t be so fun after all.

Dean stared into the camera again and proclaimed, “I can’t believe I made it!”

“And are you gonna win?”

“Hell, yeah. Next great American designer right here, boo-yah.”

“And what would you say to the other contestants?”

“Um. Hi?” The woman burst into a fit of giggles.

“Give us some trash talk.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

No wonder people always sounded like dicks on reality TV.

“Um, they better watch out ’cause I’m gonna cut a bitch that gets in my way.”

The woman’s laughs grew more hysterical, and the man looked askance at her. When she finally regained control of herself, she pointed at a brown-haired man a few feet away. “Go up and introduce yourself to him.”

“What?”

“We need some shots of the designers meeting each other.”

“Ah.” He always hated watching the competitors’ forced meetings. They were just so damn awkward.

Dean approached the man, who had his own escort of one camerawoman. “Um. Hey.”

“Hello,” the man answered, and wow. His eyes were really fuckin’ blue.

Dean held out his hand. “Dean Winchester.”

The man gave his hand a bewildered look before accepting it. “Castiel Novak.” He grasped Dean’s hand just a little too hard, and Dean winced.

“Great. Great shot,” Castiel’s camerawoman commented. She turned her back to them. “Follow me.”

“Where’re we goin’?” Dean asked.

“We’ve got a van outside to take you to your apartments.”

“The Atlas New York?!” Castiel exclaimed.

“Yes.”

What a nerd. How had the dude known that?

They were led to a large nondescript white van, which was sketchy as fuck. The _Project Runway_ man took Dean’s and Castiel’s suitcases and stowed them in the back.

They took seats in the van, and Castiel stared out the window.

“So, are you excited to meet everybody?” Dean asked Castiel.

Castiel shrugged. “It is irrelevant to the larger purpose of the competition,” he answered without looking away from the window. Fine, if the guy didn’t want to talk to him, whatever, but he didn’t have to be such a dick about it.

Dean eyed the red-headed woman on his other side, who was wearing a green shirt with Princess Leia emblazoned on it.

“Awesome shirt,” Dean complimented.

“Thanks,” she chirped. “Are you a _Star Wars_ fan?”

“I friggin’ _love Star Wars_.”

She beamed. “I’m Charlie Bradbury.”

“Dean Winchester.”

“Nice to meet you, Dean. How about you?” she shouted to Castiel, but the guy didn’t acknowledge her in the least.

Dean tapped his shoulder. “Hey, she’s talkin’ to ya.”

“What?” Castiel bit out.

Charlie flinched. “I was just wondering if you like _Star Wars_?”

Castiel eyed Charlie’s shirt disdainfully. “No.” His attention returned to the window.

“Douche,” Dean muttered.

“I think we’ve found this season’s villain,” Charlie whispered. They giggled.

The van filled up, and before he knew it, they’d arrived at the Atlas. Damn, but this place looked swanky.

The producers had rented two three-bedroom apartments, one for the women and one for the men. Before Dean could claim his bed, four of the other men had snagged two of the rooms, and Dean was left bunking with that asshole Castiel. Fan-fucking-tastic.

After they’d stashed their bags, they filed up to the rooftop, where they found Heidi Klum, Tim Gunn, and a slew of cameras.

Damn, but that woman was _fine_ , with legs practically up to her chin. The camera didn’t do justice to her beauty.

Heidi and Tim distributed glasses of champagne. Then Heidi raised her glass and declared, “To _Project Runway_ Season 14!”

“Repeat her,” one of the cameramen hissed

So the designers raised their glasses and yelled, “To _Project Runway_ Season 14!”

As they sipped at their champagne, Heidi said, “So, this is exciting, hmm?”

“Awesome,” a dark-skinned man replied. Dean thought his name might be Gordon.

“Are we excited to be here?”

“Of course!” Charlie squeaked.

“Wonderful! Then you’ll be happy to start your first challenge!”

Collective groans followed the announcement, although Castiel looked freakin’ _eager_ , the weirdo.

“Tim, would you like to do the honors?” Heidi inquired.

“Sure!” He smiled at the designers. “Your first challenge starts now. You’re to make a fashionable garment using no more than three items from your suitcase. Choose wisely! And it’s a one-day challenge.”

These people were bringing out the big guns already. _One day?!_

“You’ll have tonight to choose your garments,” Heidi put in.

“And thirty minutes to sketch,” Tim added. “Which begin—” He glanced at his watch. “—now!”

Fuck, Dean didn’t know what he wanted to make. He hadn’t packed anything disposable. He surveyed the others around him, who were intensely focused on their sketch pads. Dean tapped his pencil against his lips, at a loss.

“Five minutes left!” Tim shouted.

“Dammit,” Dean hissed to himself.

The blonde woman sitting at the table next to him glanced up. Her name was Jo, right?

“You haven’t sketched anything yet?” she marveled.

“Can’t think of nothin’. I hate this damn challenge.” He glimpsed her sketch. "Cute cocktail dress.”

She flushed. “Thanks.”

Dean began sketching some sort of vest. He could make a decent one out of denim.

“Time’s up!” Tim announced. “Put down your sketch pads.”

Everyone dropped their sketch pads and pencils except Dean, who was planning out a blouse.

“Dean,” Tim warned.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered to himself, tossing his pencil and pad onto the table.

Fuck. He was so _screwed._

xxxxxxxxxx

_Jo: You know who I think’s in trouble? Dean. He didn’t even finish his sketch._

_Linda: My design’s going to be a tribute to my son, Kevin. He gave me these Dungeons and Dragons T-Shirts for my birthday as a joke, and I brought them to sleep in. They’ll be perfect for what I have in mind._

_Aaron: This is such a cool challenge! I love repurposing things in the name of fashion!_

_Castiel: Dean seems flummoxed by the challenge. Perhaps he is not ready for this level of competition._

xxxxxxxxxx

Back inside the apartment, Dean and Castiel dug around in their suitcases, searching for anything they could use tomorrow. Castiel quickly pulled out a sky blue scarf, a black leather jacket, and a white long-sleeved button-down shirt.

Dean gaped at him. “That’s a nice jacket. You’re gonna cut it up?” Castiel shrugged, and Dean sighed. “Seems criminal.”

“I need it for my design,” Castiel explained.

“But look at this thing. It’s awesome.” He snatched up the jacket from Castiel’s bed and skimmed his fingers over the material. It was quality stuff. Filigreed cutouts lined the area that would cover the chest, and the zipper was slanted, starting at the bottom right and going up to the left shoulder. A high collar buttoned up over the area where the zipper ended. “Where’d you get it?”

“It’s my design.”

Okay, this dude was serious competition, no matter how annoying his behavior was. “And you’re just gonna ruin it for the dumb challenge?”

“I have another one in brown at home. It’s the only item I brought that fits my vision. It’s worth the win.”

Dean snorted. “You don’t need to win the first challenge, man. Being safe is enough.”

Castiel scowled at him. “The judges will not like that attitude. First impressions are everything.”

“Whatever.” He tossed the coat back to Castiel. “Shit, I dunno what I’m gonna use. I need all this stuff.”

“You should have packed something extra.”

“What?”

“They’ve done this challenge before.” He tilted his head to the side. “Have you never watched the show?”

“’Course I’ve watched the damn show!” Why was this Castiel so damn condescending? He hadn’t thought they’d have the _exact same_ challenge again.

“Then you know that anything is fair game. You should be prepared.”

“Says the guy who wants to destroy _a badass original jacket_ ,” Dean sniffed.

Castiel cradled the jacket to his chest and rested his cheek against the leather. “I admit that it is not ideal. I do love this coat.” He sighed. “But I can create another one. I have only one chance to win _Project Runway_.”

“You’re not gonna win the whole show based on the first challenge.”

“No. But as I said, first impressions are important. Usually those who do well on the first challenge reach the finals, and those in the bottom—well, they’re eliminated soon.”

“Whatever.” Dean pulled out a random pair of jeans and a red and blue flannel shirt. Castiel gazed down at him, clearly unimpressed by his choices. Fuck that asshole.

xxxxxxxxxx

 _Hannah: I can’t believe I’m actually in the_ Project Runway _workroom. At Parsons_ _! It’s all so surreal._

_Missouri: The workroom layout vibrates with negative chi. There’s gonna be some major conflict in this place, let me tell you._

_Cole: I’m excited to finally step into the workroom and get to work. I’m designing a military-inspired coat dress. Something that will honor the troops._

xxxxxxxxxx

Just his dumb luck that his worktable _happened_ to be next to Castiel’s.

Gordon was given the space to his other side. At least he seemed tolerable.

Dean finished planning his design and began cutting up the material. He’d keep the vest, make it out of denim, and maybe do a flannel shirt underneath or something. He didn’t know what the whole outfit would be, but it’d come to him.

Before he knew it, the models were coming in for their fittings, and all Dean had was a damn vest and a plaid mess of whatever.

His model was pretty, tall with light chocolate-colored skin and long silky black hair. Finally, he’d gotten a break. She’d be a wonderful muse.

“Hi,” she said, sticking out her hand. “I’m Cassie.”

He accepted the offered hand then dropped it, running his own nervously through his hair. “Um. I’m Dean. Your designer.” He felt his face redden.

She giggled. “Oh, you’re shy! That’s cute.”

What? He was the furthest thing from shy, thank you very much. He ignored the comment, unsure of what to say, and gestured at the tatters he’d worked on so far. “So. Um. Clearly, I’m not anywhere close to done. But we can try this vest on.”

“Okay.”

He carefully arranged the vest over her smooth shoulders; it fit her snugly. Perfect. Perhaps it could be the top in and of itself.

“Looks good,” Dean concluded. “Sorry I don’t have much else to try on. Don’t worry; it’ll be ready on time. I’m not gonna be that asshole who sends a half-naked model down the runway.”

She smiled at him. “Good to know.”

As Cassie got dressed, Dean surveyed the workroom around him. Gordon had this gorgeous brunette model with shapely legs. He was jealous. But Cassie’s look was more unique; she’d be better for showing off his creations.

After the models left, he sauntered up to Gordon. He caught a glimpse of a shiny satin red dress in progress. Gordon’s garment was definitely in better shape than his. “Hey,” Dean said to him.

“Hey,” Gordon replied. “You’re Dean, right?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s it goin’?”

Dean sighed. “I ain’t got much. I think I’m in trouble.”

Gordon studied his dress. “I like mine, but it’s nothin’ special. I’d just settle for safe.”

Dean chuckled. “Me, too.” He paused. “So, your model. She’s pretty hot.”

“I know, right? Lisa is _fiiine_.”

“Definitely.”

Gordon frowned. “So you don’t swing that way?”

“What way?”

“You know.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “You’re not a fag?”

“’Course not,” Dean scoffed. He hated the stereotype that only gay men worked in fashion design. All his life, Dad had constantly lectured him about how only “queers” went into fashion. He could still hear his dad railing that “I sure didn’t raise my son to be a goddamn fag.” “Those scientists are full of shit. Being gay is a choice, and a choice against God.” “A man who likes another man ain’t a real man, Dean-o.”

Dean didn’t agree with his dad’s views on homosexuality. Lucky for him, he was straight, so he wouldn’t ever have to argue with Dad about his mistaken views regarding sexual orientation. But he still quarreled with him about fashion.

And here was Gordon, clearly a straight man, who also worked in fashion. It gave him something in his arsenal to throw at Dad.

“Thank God. Thought I was the only one.” Gordon eyed the other men in the room. “I don’t have a problem with it, but why does every single one of them have to be so damn—y’know. Flowery. Flamboyant.”

Dean glanced at Castiel, who wore a long-sleeved shirt covered in daisies. He didn’t know if he’d ever seen anything more hideous, and the dude called himself a fashion designer.

“I know, right?” Dean responded.

“I’m gonna prove that you don’t have to be fruity to win this competition. Manly men can take the fashion world by storm, too, y’know?”

“Right on.” Dean was definitely a manly man. He loved himself some beer, and his other hobby, besides fashion, was working on cars. Give him a room filled with the smell of oil and booze any day, and he was a happy camper.

“One of us has _got_ to win this thing. Represent the Straight Brigade.”

“The Straight Brigade?”

“Yep. You and me, the _real_ men in this outfit.”

Dean nodded. He could get on board with that.

xxxxxxxxxx

 _Castiel_ : _Apparently Gordon and Dean have formed something called the [air quotes] ‘Straight Brigade.’ It’s absurd. Have either of them even watched this show? At least two straight men have won in seasons past._

_Gabriel: This Straight Brigade thing is really offensive. The last thing I expected coming here was homophobia. [smiles sneakily] I’m gonna find a way to teach those boys a lesson._

_Bela: The Straight Brigade is preposterous, but I appreciate the idea. What’s wrong with that? More hunky, red-blooded straight males in this industry would be nice. [licks lips] Yum._

xxxxxxxxxx

Charlie marched up to him, face furious. What the hell?

When she reached him, she crossed her arms over her chest and ground out, “What’s this I hear about some stupid ‘Straight Brigade’?”

Dean shrugged. Why should she care? She wasn’t a gay man. “Gordon and I are straight dudes, and we just thought it’d be nice to have more representation of straight men in fashion.”

“Well, fuck you.”

“What?”

She vibrated with rage. “Do you know how much straight men have oppressed—well, everyone—throughout history?”

“What’s that gotta do with anything? I’m not sayin’ let’s go back to the olden days.”

“That’s _exactly_ what you’re doing. Trying to bring down people of other groups to soothe your poor little ego—”

“What—?”

She slammed a fist on his worktable. “And I, as a _lesbian_ , am not gonna stand for this shit.”

Dean winced. “Oh. I had no idea. But I wasn’t saying anything about _women_ —”

She snorted. “Because that makes your stupid Straight Brigade _so_ much better.” She shook her head. “I think I misjudged who the real villains are this season.” She stalked away from him.

Damn. He hadn’t meant to offend anyone. And Charlie had been his favorite person here so far.

But that didn’t change how he felt about straight men in the fashion world. He had to prove they could cut it just as well as gay men.

Show his dad that his ambitions, this gig, didn’t make him a sissy.

xxxxxxxxxx

 _Charlie: Oh, my God! It’s Tim, and he’s in the_ workroom! _With_ us! _I’m fangirling so hard right now!_

_Aaron: Shit, Tim’s here, and I still haven’t got my crap together. He’s gonna tear me a new one._

_Linda: I love Tim Gunn! I respect him so much, and I’m looking forward to hearing what he thinks of my aesthetic._

xxxxxxxxxx

When Tim strolled into the workroom, Dean gulped.

He headed over to Castiel’s worktable first, and Dean couldn’t help but listen in.

“Oh, this is divine, Castiel!” Tim exclaimed.

“Do you really think so?” Castiel asked.

“Yes. Just keep on with what you’re doing. You’ve got something special here.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

Tim came over to Dean next, and Dean scrambled to come up with an explanation for his outfit.

“Hello, Dean. You look nervous.”

Dean barked a laugh. “That’s ’cause I am nervous.”

Tim glanced down at Dean’s fabric. “So talk to me. What is this you’re making?”

“Well.” Dean picked up his only finished garment. “I’ve got this vest.” He picked up what he’d begun with the red-and-blue plaid. “I’m thinking of making a neckerchief with this.”

“Oh, Dean.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. Shit. Tim was gonna tell him everything sucked. “This vest is exquisite. The stitching is phenomenal . . . But, and I’m sorry, there’s no delicate way to put this. Everything else is a mess.”

Dean flushed. “I know.”

“You need something to cover your model’s bottom.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Um. Maybe I’ll make something reminiscent of a patchwork quilt? For the pants?”

“Hmm. You could. But make it tasteful.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, Dean. You’ve got a make-it-work moment here.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Tim.”

Yep, he was screwed.

xxxxxxxxxxx

_Aaron: It’s time for our first runway show!_

_Hannah: I just hope I’m not the first one out._

_Bela: I’m in love with my design. I’m feeling confident. I’m definitely winning this challenge._

xxxxxxxxxx

Before Dean knew it, it was time to send their models to hair and make-up. Then the designers were standing on the runway, Heidi on stage in front of them.

_Please don’t let me be the first one out._

“Welcome to the first runway show!” Heidi enthused. “We’ve got some fabulous prizes this season. Would you like to hear about them?” The designers cheered.

“The winner of _Project Runway_ will receive a complete sewing and crafting studio from Brother Sewing and Embroidery, a fashion spread in _Marie Claire_ magazine, a $25,000 styling contract with L’Oreal Paris, a 2015 Lexus GS 350, a $50,000 technology suite from HP and Intel, the opportunity to design a collection for Lord & Taylor, and $150,000 to launch their line.

“The model paired with the winning designer will receive $25,000 and a spread in _Marie Claire_ magazine.”

Hot damn. Dean could do so much with all that. He could finally start his fashion career and show his dad that he hadn’t wasted his spare time sewing and reading about fashion.

“Now. Let’s meet the judges.

“First, we have acclaimed fashion designer Zachariah Adler.”

“Hello, designers,” the bald man called. The designers waved at him.

“Next, we have the fashion director of _Marie Claire_ , Naomi White.”

Naomi, a woman with a light brown bob, waved at them. “Hi, designers.”

“Hi!” the designers shouted back.

“Finally, we have our guest judge, fashion designer Hester Ingalls.”

“Hi,” Hester said, her expression stoic. Her blonde hair fell to her shoulders. Dean suddenly felt stupid. He remembered reading about Hester Ingalls somewhere, but for all intents and purposes, he knew nothing about her.

“Tim Gunn will be joining us on the panel. As you know, he is your mentor and will not be judging you. This season, we will once again have the Tim Gunn save. Should Tim disagree with the judges, he will have one opportunity to save an eliminated designer.

“As you know, in fashion, one day you’re in, and the next day you’re out. The winner of this challenge will receive immunity and cannot be eliminated during the next episode.

“Are we ready to begin?” The designers nodded. “Let’s start the show!”

Dean watched as the models strutted down the runway, taking in everyone’s aesthetic and trying to decide who might be in the bottom and top.

Linda’s model sported a long-sleeved black jersey-knit dress with dragon fire running down her arms. Quite chic.

Jo’s model strutted down the runway in a short green silk cocktail dress, ripples of white cotton striping the skirt portion. That dress had been cute. Why’d she have to go and ruin it with those stripes?

Hannah’s outfit consisted of red shorts and a sparkly white tank top. Kind of pedestrian, but she’d accessorized the model wisely with white pearl earrings and an owl pendant necklace

Gabriel’s model looked like she was set to join the circus. The top of the dress was a plain white camisole, and the bottom was a flouncy skirt that looked like a deflated beach ball. Definitely bottom.

Missouri’s model appeared after Gabriel’s, bearing a bad-ass afro and wearing a plain black maxi dress.

Next, Cole’s model stalked down the runway in an army-green coat dress with gold epaulettes. Maybe it was just because Dean loved the military aesthetic, but he thought Cole was in the top for sure.

Bela’s garment was a sunny yellow jumpsuit limned with silver edges. Jeez, that was bright, but well-made.

The following model wore a black netted crop top and saggy shorts, one leg gold and the other silver. Ouch. Aaron was definitely in the bottom.

Castiel’s model came next. Begrudgingly, Dean acknowledged that it was a serious contender. Castiel had taken the filigree from his leather coat to create slanted straps that held up his shirt. The top was made of leather, and scraps of the blue scarf covered the white skirt like delicate lace.

Gordon sent down a short red dress with long red sleeves and a high collar, fine detailing lining the edges.

Dean cringed when his model walked out. The vest covered her quite well, and the red-and-blue neckerchief fit snugly above her vest. She also wore cut-off jean shorts. Ugh, any ten-year-old could make those.

Finally, Charlie’s model took the runway. Leia was pasted above the girl’s heart, which meant Charlie had used the shirt she’d worn yesterday. The model also sported black leggings with one long light saber on the outside of each leg and a midnight-blue blouse.

After the runway show, the designers arrayed themselves on the stage.

“When I call your name, please step forward,” Heidi declared. “Bela. Missouri. Castiel. Linda. Dean. Aaron.

“The rest of you, congratulations. You’re safe. Please wait in the lounge.”

After the other six designers departed, Heidi informed them, “You have the bottom and top designs. One of you will be the winner, and one of you will be out.” Dean could practically hear the suspenseful beat the producers would insert into the show.

Heidi turned to Bela first. “Bela. Tell us about your look and what you used.”

“I wanted to design something fashionable yet comfortable, perfect for summer. I repurposed a yellow dress I had and used a silver blouse to add a little variety to the color and design.” Dean did appreciate the silver; if nothing else, at least it softened the blinding yellow.

“I love it,” Heidi gushed, “Can I have it?”

Bela smiled. “Sure.”

“You’re a genius, Bela,” Zachariah opined. “That silver adds interest to something that would be fairly average on its own. Good job.”

“Thank you.”

“Yes, I quite like this,” Naomi put in. “Surprisingly. That shade of yellow; it’s so bright. But you made such a lovely jumpsuit out of it.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s all right,” Hester commented. “It’s well-made, but all that yellow. In can be an eyesore.”

Bela appeared taken aback at the criticism, but she quickly regained her composure. “Oh. Thank you for the feedback.”

“Thanks, Bela,” Heidi said. “Missouri. Tell us about your look.”

“I took two black shirts and made them into one dress.” Well, that was the most uncreative plan in the history of ever.

“It’s kind of boring. So plain.”

“Oh. Yes, I do apologize for that. I didn’t have time to finish my original design. I had some gold and silver ribbons I wanted to incorporate.”

“Don’t give us excuses, Missouri,” Zachariah snapped. “Your competitors had just as much time as you, and you can see how gorgeous some of their garments are.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s not a _bad_ dress,” Naomi said. “But it’s kind of old-lady-ish.”

“I can find this on a rack at any Target,” Hester concluded.

“You need to step it up for this competition,” Naomi advised. Dean was sure that her pronouncement also applied to him.

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

“Castiel, please tell us about your look,” Heidi prompted.

“Okay. I took these straps from a leather jacket I owned. I used the leather to create the top, and a white dress shirt for the skirt. I layered it with strips from a scarf.”

“This is really beautiful, Castiel. Well-tailored.”

“Thank you.”

“Yes, Castiel,” Zachariah said. “It’s unique; it’s new. High fashion at its finest.”

“Thank you.”

“I could see this doing well on the catwalks in Paris,” Naomi commented.

“Oh, wow,” Castiel marveled.

“Yes. Well-done.”

“I agree with everything the judges have said,” Hester put in. “I love it.” Ugh. Dean hated that Castiel was getting so much praise, but it was well-deserved, even if the guy was unpleasant.

“Thank you,” Castiel said.

“Linda,” Heidi continued. “Tell us about your look.”

“I used two black Dungeons and Dragons T-shirts my son gave me. I wanted to emphasize the elegant lines of her arms with the dragon fire.” Wow. Her son must be quite the geek.

“This is really cool.”

“Thank you.”

“Comic-con chic,” Zachariah added.

“You incorporated the fire elements quite well. They definitely add intrigue,” Naomi said.

“I could see this playing quite well with the stylish nerdy crowd,” Hester declared.

“Thanks,” Linda said.

“Dean, tell us about your look,” Heidi told him.

 _Shit. Here goes. “_ So,” Dean began. “I, um. I began with this vest. I made it from my jeans, and I also used them for the shorts. This neckerchief . . . um, it’s from this shirt I have.”

“Oh, Dean. I’m sorry; I don’t want to say this. I’m not trying to be mean, but it’s butt ugly.”

“Uh huh.” Yep, Dean agreed.

“What were you going for with this? Hillbilly chic?” Zachariah gibed. The other judges laughed, and Castiel and Bela snickered. Assholes. “Because it isn’t working, pal.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“It’s not _all_ bad,” Naomi said, which surprised Dean. Based on his viewing experiences, he’d expected her to give him the most negative feedback. “Granted, it’s hideous. But that vest does have some interest. It shows skill.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t think anyone would even pick this up at Goodwill,” Hester sniffed. The judges chuckled again, as did Castiel and Bela. Fuck, he hated those two. Couldn’t they give him a little respect?

“Okay. Thank you, Dean. Aaron. Tell us about your look,” Heidi continued.

“I thought it would be cool to make some shorts that had two different designs on each leg. I’ve never seen it before. I used parts from two pairs of my own shorts; then I added the shirt.” Sounded like Aaron needed to learn that not all novel ideas were good ones.

“I can tell that those were your clothes. The legs on those shorts are much too big for her.”

“This is not high fashion,” Zachariah commented. “It’s not even low fashion. I don’t know what it is.”

“There’s a reason people don’t make shorts that are different on each leg. This isn’t the eighties, Aaron. Tacky is no longer in style,” Naomi added.

“If I saw someone walking down the street in that,” Hester ended, “I’d run for the hills. I think that’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. No lie.”

Aaron paled. Poor guy. His entry in the competition was horrible, but he didn’t deserve for the judges to deride him like that. They were clearly struggling to suppress their mirth.

“Oh,” Aaron exhaled.

“We’ve heard what you have to say. Please wait in the lounge while we deliberate,” Heidi directed. “When you return, one of you will be the winner, and one of you will be out.”

xxxxxxxxxxx

_Aaron [in tears]: They hated it. I put my heart and soul into something, and they just made fun of me!_

_Linda: I can’t believe I’m in the top! Kevin will be so proud._

xxxxxxxxxx

After what felt like forever, the bottom and top designers returned to the runway.

“One of you will be the winner, and one of you will be out,” Heidi repeated. Seriously, how often did she need to say that? He got the picture. “Linda. You’re in. Congratulations. You may leave the runway.”

After Linda left, Heidi looked at Bela and Castiel. “One of you is the winner of this challenge. You both presented us with strong designs, and it was a tough decision.

“Castiel.” She paused dramatically, and Castiel stood stock still. “Congratulations! You’re the winner of this challenge!”

“Oh,” Castiel exhaled. “Thank you.”

“You have immunity for the next week. You may leave the runway.”

Once Castiel was gone, Heidi said, “Bela, you’re in. Congratulations. You may leave the runway.”

“Thank you,” Bela uttered.

“Missouri,” Heidi continued. “You’re in. You may leave the runway.”

A minute later, Heidi turned to the last two designers on the runway. “Dean. Aaron. One of you will be out.

“Dean. You presented us with a singularly uninspired, even raggedy, look.

“Aaron. Your design was certainly different, but not in a good way.

“Aaron.” Dean held his breath. Shit. He was so totally gonna be out. “I’m sorry; you’re out.” Dean gasped.

“Dean. That means you’re in. Congratulations. You may leave the runway.”

“Thank you. I’ll do better next time. I promise.”

“You better.”

Dean was so friggin’ thankful. The next challenge, he was definitely bringing it.

xxxxxxxxxx

 _Aaron: Well, someone had to be the first to go. Might as well be me. I just graduated from design school, and to even make it to_ Project Runway _. . . It’s amazing._

_Oh, you haven’t seen the last of me. Aaron Bass will eventually take the fashion world by storm, yo. You’ll see._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prizes are a conglomeration of various prizes that have been offered on the show during various seasons.
> 
> Parsons--Parsons School of Design, where some seasons of _Project Runway_ have been filmed.


	2. Let's Get This Party Started

The alarm clock on the nightstand between Castiel’s and Dean’s beds blared, obscenely loud. Dean groaned and rolled his head to the side, glancing at the time. Six a.m. “Fuck,” he mumbled. He closed his eyes and listened as Castiel sprang out of bed.

“Dean? Are you going to get up?” Castiel asked several minutes later. Dean opened one eye and stared at him blearily. The dude’s blue eyes shone with excitement. Who in their right mind was so energetic this early in the morning?

“Why?” Dean grumbled. “It’s not even the crack of dawn.”

“They’re taking us to Parsons in an hour.”

Dean’s eyes popped wide open. “What?”

“For the next challenge.” Still clad in his pajamas (matching blue pants and long-sleeved shirt—really?), Castiel started doing lunges.

Yeah, Dean didn’t like this guy. Fuck morning people.

He was confused by what Castiel had said. “What? Isn’t it next week?”

Castiel sighed, exasperated. “Are you serious?”

“What?”

“Did you not pay attention to _anything_ last night?”

He remembered Tim saying something about needing to be ready tomorrow morning, but it was hazy. He’d been falling asleep on his feet after the long day.

“But at judging, they were talking about next week’s challenge.”

Castiel snorted. “That’s because the episodes air one week apart.” He frowned. “You didn’t think they actually gave us a week between challenges?” The guy sounded so damn contemptuous that Dean didn’t want to dignify the question with a response. “You did, didn’t you?” He sighed again. “You didn’t do much research about the show before you came on, did you?”

“I watched all thirteen previous seasons.” Not recently, granted, but he’d seen them when they’d aired.

“So you didn’t. Still, even if that’s all you did, you should’ve been aware that challenges happen every day. It’s common knowledge.”

“Whatever, smartass.” Dean stumbled out of bed while Castiel continued to stretch.

“I wish I had time to go on a run,” Castiel said.

“Seriously? This early in the damn morning?”

“It’s the best time.” He stretched his arms above his head, his shirt riding up and exposing a sliver of skin. Just with that sneak peak, Dean could tell the dude was toned as fuck. He found himself gazing at the guy’s stomach a second too long. Dammit, he shouldn’t have noticed that detail.

Ah, who cared. It wasn't like Dean was attracted to him or anything.

“Not as many people out and about,” Castiel explained. “The air’s nice, and I love watching the sun rise.”

“Dude, I can barely walk this early if I haven’t had a cup of coffee yet.” As if to demonstrate the truth of his words, Dean suddenly tripped on his way to the bedroom door. Castiel burst into a fit of laughter. Dean glared at him, and he tried to reign in his mirth, but to no avail. Dammit, why’d he have to win the first challenge? Dean wanted him gone ASAP.

xxxxxxxxxx

Instead of taking them to Parsons, the producers drove them to some random street and instructed them to stand in front of a giant party store named Fun City. Heidi and Tim met them a minute later.

“Good morning, designers,” Heidi greeted.

“Good morning,” the designers echoed.

“You may be wondering why we are at a party store.” Several of the other designers nodded. “This week, we have the unconventional materials challenge.” The other designers looked terrified. Except for that idiot Castiel, of course, who smiled enthusiastically, and Bela, who appeared intrigued. Gabriel looked like he’d just won the fuckin' lottery, the weirdo.

Heidi waved a hand at the party store. “You will be using materials from Fun City to create a fashionable design.

“Remember, we are looking for creativity and innovation. Choose your purchases wisely.

“This is a one-day challenge, and you will have thirty minutes to shop. Starting now.”

Everyone dashed into the store and began frantically grabbing whatever they could and throwing it into carts.

Dean had no idea what section of the store to visit first. God, he’d been dreading the unconventional materials challenges. Seriously, when in real life was he ever going to need to make clothes out of party store merchandise?

He found himself in an aisle filled with tablecloths for various occasions. He snatched up a few of those. They were made of fabric, which would be easier to use than, say, those Sweet Tarts he’d spied Charlie collecting.

After that, he picked up some red and silver tinsel. He had no idea what he was gonna do with any of this stuff, but he’d figure it out in the workroom.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Jo: An unconventional materials challenge already? It’s only the second challenge!_

_Hannah: I was looking forward to finally getting to go to Mood_ _, but instead we have to do this unconventional materials challenge. I just hope I’m in._

_Missouri: I let the spirits guide me through the aisles of the party store. They inspire most of my designs._

_Gabriel: Here it is, kiddos, the dreaded unconventional materials challenge! Those are my favorite! We get to raid a party store. That’s my kinda scene, y’know? [pops a red lollipop into his mouth, the movement slightly lascivious] It fits perfectly with my aesthetic._

xxxxxxxxxx

When they returned to Parsons, Dean dumped all his materials onto the worktable and stared at them as he tried to come up with a plan. Eventually, he settled on cutting a simple circle skirt out of the gray tablecloth. He decided to line the bottom with red tinsel trim, and he began sewing it on by hand since he didn’t know if a sewing machine could handle that kind of work.

“Is that all you purchased?” Castiel suddenly asked from behind him.

Startled, Dean pricked his index finger with the needle. “Christ!” he exclaimed, sucking the blood off of his skin. “Don’t do that!”

“What?”

The guy stood there with wide, innocent blue eyes, and how could he be serious? “Sneak up on someone when they’re sewing.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Come, we have all poked ourselves with needles before. It’s a hazard of the trade.”

Fair point. “Whaddaya want?” Dean huffed.

“I asked if that’s all you bought,” Castiel repeated, glancing at Dean’s supplies then back at him.

“Yeah. So?”

The fucker sighed as if Dean was trying his patience. “That wasn’t very wise, Dean.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“You claimed to have watched the show before.”

“Yeah.”

“Then you should know that the judges don’t like when designers opt for anything like normal fabric.”

Dammit, Castiel was right. How could he have forgotten? In this morning’s scramble, he’d been so focused on getting something he could work with that he’d neglected to think about other factors the judges would consider.

He couldn’t let the smug SOB see how much he was panicking, though. “So what’s it to you?”

Castiel eyed his own worktable, which was filled with enough stuff to make three or four outfits. “If you would like to use some of my materials instead, I have plenty of leftovers.”

Dean refused to be this douche’s charity case, thank you very much, just so he could lord it over him later in the competition. “I don’t need your damn help,” he hissed.

Castiel flinched. “I apologize. I was just trying to be friendly.” He scurried off toward Hannah, no doubt to offer his opinion on her work. A few minutes later, she followed him to his worktable and carted off several bags of red and black licorice. Hey, if she wanted to owe Castiel a favor later, that was her problem.

A PA called for Dean and escorted him to a room in the back, near the breakroom. All of the designers were permitted one Skype call per day, and it was time for his.

He dialed up Sammy, who was lounging on his threadbare blue sofa beside a stack of several law textbooks. He’d just started law school, and he was already drowning himself in studying.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam replied. “So. How is it so far?”

“It’s all right.”

“How are the other designers? Anyone you like?”

“Don’t you know the cardinal rule of reality TV, Sammy? I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to be the next great fashion designer.”

“Haha. You do know it’s the villains who usually say that, right?”

Dean squirmed. This was the second time in two days someone had referred to him as a villain. He wasn’t the season’s villain, was he? He liked to think he was a decent guy.

“But seriously,” Sam continued. “How is everyone?”

“Oh, y’know. There’s this obnoxious guy named Castiel.”

“Castiel?”

“Yeah, I don’t know what kinda name that is. Sounds artsy-fartsy to me. I have to share a damn bedroom with him, and he likes to point out everything I’m doing wrong.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

“Anyone you like?”

“There’s this chick named Charlie who’s a total nerd. And I think I have a lot in common with Gordon.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“Y’know.” He doubted mentioning that they were both straight males would make Sam happy. He’d probably react much as Charlie had, come to think of it. “We both like cars. And beer.” At least, he thought Gordon liked those things. They’d briefly come up in casual conversation between them, anyway.

“The stuff solid friendships are made of,” Sam gibed.

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled. Still, he chuckled along with Sam. “So, how’s Dad?”

“He’s good. Still doesn’t understand why Bobby let you off to—y’know.”

Yeah, Dean knew. Dad had scoffed at him for participating in “a reality show for sissies and fags.” Both he and Dean worked at Singer Automotive. Bobby Singer was an old family friend, and Dad had argued with him when he’d decided to give Dean time off to go on _Project Runway_.

But Sammy was the one who’d finally given Dean the courage to pursue his dreams of becoming a fashion designer. He’d convinced Dean to submit an application for _Project Runway._ Dean had just been indulging Sam, knowing there was no way in hell they’d ever call him back. But then the producers had accepted him for the next stage of auditions, and somehow he’d become one of this season’s twelve competitors.

He knew Mom would’ve supported his appearance on the show, and that had given him the extra boost he’d needed to say yes. She had started teaching him how to sew before kindergarten. He remembered when she used to sew all their clothes, back when they were too poor to afford much. When he’d gotten older, he’d still treasured anything she would create for him because it was one of a kind. Personal. Not to mention well-made.

During his senior year, Dean had contemplated going to design school. He’d applied to several, even been accepted by SCAD. Mom had encouraged him to attend, promised she’d help him figure out how school loans worked.

Then a week before graduation, she’d died in a car accident.

Dad had threatened to disown him if he did something so “worthless” as go to SCAD, and Dean couldn’t handle the thought of losing all contact with Sammy. So after graduating from high school, he’d begun working at Singer Automotive, and he’d done nothing else ever since. He even gave up designing for a couple years, especially since it reminded him of Mom.

But he’d loved designing too much to quit it permanently.

“Everyone else is rooting for you, though,” Sam resumed. “Bobby and I can’t wait until the show airs. And you know Jess’s a big fan.”

Yep, Sam’s girlfriend probably knew more _Project Runway_ trivia than anyone Dean had ever met.

A PA signaled to Dean that his time was up. “Listen, I gotta go. Nice talkin’ to ya.”

“Yeah. Good luck,” Sam replied.

“Thanks, Sammy. Talk to ya later.”

“Bye.”

As Dean stepped back into the workroom, he surveyed what the other designers were working on. Missouri looked like she was trying to weave ribbons together to create a garment, but she didn’t seem to have enough to make more than a bikini. Cole appeared to be stringing together a military jacket with strips from a black-and-white picnic basket. Damn, that was gonna be hella awesome. He better be careful, though; if he kept with that military theme forever, the judges might decide he was a one-trick pony.

He definitely admired the guy’s aesthetic, however. It was effortlessly masculine with a hint of femininity, imbued by the soft white blouse he had been constructing to go underneath the jacket.

He observed Charlie clutching at tufts of her hair and tearing up in frustration. “Hey. What’s wrong?” Dean asked her.

She scowled at him even as she answered. “These Sweet Tarts. I’m trying to glue them.” She gestured at the blue cardboard she was using to construct a bodice over a muslin base. “Kinda like polka dots. But they won’t stay on.”

“Hmm.” Dean studied her materials for a moment. “Maybe you could try tape?”

She snorted. “That would look tacky. Can you imagine what the judges would say if they saw all that tape flapping around?”

“What about double-sided tape? Or even colored tape? The color could be a sort of background surrounding the polka dots.”

“Oh, my God, you’re a genius! Thanks, Dean!” She threw her arms around him, and he couldn’t breathe for a minute. Then she shoved him away. “Oh, yeah. I forgot I didn’t like you.”

“Hey, now.”

“Shut down that Straight Brigade nonsense, and we can talk.”

“What? It’s not like some kinda reality-show alliance or anything. Gordon and I just realized we had somethin’ in common.”

“Yeah, and you think that somehow makes you two superior.”

“No, I don’t.” He just liked not being the token straight guy was all.

“Oh, yeah? Tell that to Gordon.”

He had to concede she was right about that. Gordon clearly disdained gay men, but that didn’t make him all bad.

After another hour, Dean asked Gordon if he'd like to take a break and grab a quick lunch with him. Gordon nodded and followed him to the breakroom, where they both snagged a ham sandwich and a bottle of water.

“So, Gordon,” Dean began, “how’s your design goin’?”

“Good. I’m making a corset out of blue streamers. It’ll show off Lisa’s assets beautifully. Wouldn’t be surprised if you and I wanted to bone her.” He threw his head back and laughed.

Dean could appreciate the sentiment, but Gordon sounded sleazy. You had to maintain an air of professionalism in this business, and daydreaming about fucking your model definitely didn’t fit in with that.

“How about you, Dean-o?”

Dean-o. Dad called him that. The nickname filled him with warmth. “Eh, not so good. I didn’t buy the right stuff. Wouldn’t surprise me if I was out.”

Gordon slapped him on the back. “No yet, my man! You and me have to represent! The Straight Brigade’s goin’ all the way to the finals, right?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I guess.”

Gordon narrowed his eyes at him. “You guess?”

He remembered Charlie’s fury about the Straight Brigade. “I’m with you, man, but let’s keep it under our cap, hmm? I think some of the others are kinda offended.”

“Let them be! We’re not here to make friends!”

Dean had told Sam the same thing. It was true, but was Sam right? Did this attitude make him and Gordon the season’s villains?

“If I come outta this with one solid friend,” Gordon continued, “I’ll count myself lucky. You’re the only friend I need in this place. If anyone has problems with the Straight Brigade, fuck ’em. We’re just lookin’ for more representation in the business. What’s so wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Dean acknowledged.

When they finished lunch, they rushed back into the workroom. After all, they only had so much time to finish their garments, and Tim would come by soon to visit.

But when Dean reached his worktable, he found all of his sewing supplies missing.

“Son of a bitch!” he exclaimed.

Gordon turned to him. “Is your stuff gone, too?”

“Yeah.”

“Dammit. This isn’t funny, guys!”

“You think someone stole it?” Dean ventured.

“I don’t know what else could’ve happened to it.”

Dean stalked toward Castiel. Dude must’ve seen something since their worktables were adjacent. “Um, hey. Did you see who took my stuff? And Gordon’s?”

“Oh, are your supplies gone?” Castiel replied. “That is unfortunate.”

“Yeah, they were stolen, genius. Now. Who came over to my table while we were gone?”

“Hmm. I apologize, but I did not notice.” Dean glanced down at the man’s garments, a pair of pants made out of trash bags and a blouse created from gift bags of various colors. The pants looked uncannily like leather. Dean would compliment him if he didn’t hate his guts.

When his eyes returned to Castiel’s face, he noted a barely suppressed grin. Oh, yeah, he definitely knew _something_. Dean would beat it out of him if he had to.

“Sure you didn’t,” Dean retorted. “Now. Who came over to my worktable?”

“I told you,” Castiel enunciated slowly, as if speaking to a child. “I do not know.” But his grin widened, and his blue eyes sparkled with stifled laughter.

“I’ll give you one more chance to ’fess up.”

Castiel quirked an eyebrow. “Or what?”

“Or this.” Dean grasped Castiel by the shoulders and shoved him against the wall. Nearby, Hannah screamed.

“Tell me, you bastard,” Dean seethed.

“I—don’t—know!” Castiel gasped out, his eyes wide with panic.

Dean tightened his hands around Castiel’s shoulders. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Get off him, you asshole,” a woman behind him warned.

Dean glanced over his shoulder to find himself confronted by Jo, hands on her hips. “Not until he tells me the truth.” Dean suddenly realized something. He turned back to Castiel and narrowed his eyes at him. “Wait a minute. You took them, didn’t you?”

“No,” Castiel rasped.

“Yes, you did.”

“No, he didn’t,” a new presence announced. Gabriel.

“Oh, yeah? Then who did?”

“Me.”

Dean released Castiel and whirled around to face Gabriel. “ _You_?”

“Me.”

“Give them back, jackass.”        

“Oh, you and Gordon want your supplies, huh?” Dean nodded. “Well. You’ll just have to come get them.” He dashed off, and Dean and Gordon darted after him. They flew into a small room Dean hadn’t been in before and spotted their stuff on a table in the corner. They snatched it up and turned back toward the workroom.

And discovered they couldn’t move.

“What the hell is this?” Gordon griped.

“Seems we’re stuck,” Dean murmured. He tried to lift his foot, but it stayed firmly on the ground.

In the doorway to the workroom, Gabriel laughed.

“You did this,” Dean accused.

“Damn right I did,” Gabriel retorted.

“What?” Gordon asked. “What’d he do?”

God, Gordon was slow on the uptake. “Our shoes are superglued to the floor.” He raised an eyebrow at Gabriel. “Right?”

Gabriel broke into a grin.

“Fuck,” Gordon muttered. He bent down to remove his shoes and wound up with his sock-clad feet soldered to the floor. “Dammit!”

Several chuckles emanated from the doorway, and Dean whipped around to see who all was there. Gabriel, of course. Castiel, who must’ve been in cahoots with Gabriel. Charlie, Jo, Bela.

They must be this season’s “popular clique,” Dean mused.

It kind of hurt to see Charlie there ridiculing him, but he knew she was mad at him for joining in with Gordon’s “Straight Brigade” mantra. He didn’t mean anything disrespectful toward her or anyone else, though. He wished she could understand that. He’d just been so happy to meet another straight male designer he could bond with.

Dean contemplated slipping off his shoes as well then jumping out of the danger zone, but he didn’t know how far along Gabriel had layered the glue. He wished it wasn’t so damn transparent.

“Fuck, how do I get outta here,” he mumbled to himself. Louder, he shouted, “Can I get some help here?” He knew it was probably a lost cause, but it didn’t hurt to try.

Gabriel chortled and strolled out of the room. Slowly, the other designers followed. Bela, the last one out, smirked at them, and in a singsong voice, called, “Have fun, boys.” Dean swore he heard her cackling in the workroom a second later.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Bela: I loved Gabriel’s prank. He definitely knows how to bring the fun to the workroom._

_Jo: Dean and Gordon deserved it for being such assholes._

_Gabriel [grins mischievously]: Told ya I’d teach those boys a lesson, didn’t I?_

_Missouri: I said I sensed negative chi in the workroom. It finally exploded._

_Hannah: I felt kind of bad for Dean and Gordon. I don’t condone the Straight Brigade nonsense, of course. But that prank was kind of cruel. I asked a PA to help them._

xxxxxxxxxx

Soon, a couple of PAs appeared with a bottle of nail polish. No doubt the producers had witnessed what had happened since everything had been caught on camera.

But once he and Gordon were free to move, Dean discovered that the PAs had freed them only because Hannah had asked them to. Otherwise, they would’ve let them languish all day without interceding. It would’ve made good TV, after all.

When he and Gordon returned to the workroom, Tim had begun making his rounds. After speaking with Jo, he headed toward Dean.

“I heard there was an altercation in the workroom between you and Castiel,” he declared.

Fuck. The cameras had recorded everything, of course. Dean pasted on his most charming smile. “Uh. Yeah. Just a little misunderstanding.”

“You physically assaulted him.”

“What? No!”

“You pushed him against the wall, Dean. You touched him. That is grounds for dismissal from the program.” Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Tim held up a hand to stall him. “You are here solely because of Castiel.”

“What?”

“He asked the producers not to punish you.”

Dean’s mind reeled with the revelation. “He did?”

“Yes.” Dean gaped at him. “Consider this your only warning. Should another incident arise, you will be gone. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He eyed Dean’s worktable. “Now tell me about your look.”

Dean waved at the garment in its current state. “I’m using this tinsel to outline the tablecloth. I think I’m making something with a circle skirt.”

Tim frowned. “Hmm. You chose fabric as your main component.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“The judges will not like that, Dean. It’s unimaginative. Do you have any other material?”

“Nope.”

“Do you have enough of this tinsel to make a dress without the tablecloth?”

“Um. Maybe?”

“If you do, you might want to consider that option.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, Tim.”

After Tim left the workroom, Dean glanced at Castiel and Hannah. Should he thank them?

Yeah, unless he wanted to be a douche.

He approached Castiel first. When Dean stopped by his table, Castiel jumped and dropped his work.

“Hey, I’m not here to hurt ya,” Dean assured him.

Castiel scowled at him. “Please forgive me if I am skeptical.”

“Uh, yeah. Guess I can’t blame ya. But listen. I’m serious.” He cleared his throat. “I heard you kept them from kicking me off the show.”

“I did request for them not to, yes.”

He wanted to ask why. If they’d gotten rid of Dean, Castiel would’ve increased his chances of winning the competition. Not that Dean was much competition, at this rate.

But he was afraid to voice the query, and he didn’t feel like conversing with Castiel besides.

So he said, “Um. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And, um.” Dean ran a nervous hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for earlier.”

“Thank you.”

Dean shuffled off toward Hannah. “Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” she responded, pausing with her needle.

“They told me you got the PAs to free me and Gordon from the superglue.”

“Yes.”

“I just wanted to thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Dean trotted back to his worktable, and Gordon came up to him a few minutes later. “What were you doing?” Gordon asked.

“Just thanking them for their help.”

Gordon snorted. “Why’d you thank that asshat Castiel?”

“They wanted to expel me for shoving him. He convinced them to let me stay.”

“Oh.” Gordon paused. “Whatever. I wouldn’t talk to that fag no matter what. Risk his disease spreading to me.”

Okay, that had been really offensive, but he didn’t want to make Gordon mad. He could tell the dude had a temper. Gordon was just ignorant, he told himself. Once he got used to their male competitors, he would change his tune.

So Dean said nothing.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Linda: There was a lot of drama in the workroom today. I try to stay out of it._

_Gabriel: The producers asked me not to pull anything like that again, but I know they really loved it. I mean, it makes for great TV._

_Hannah: Dean thanked me for helping him out. I thought that was gracious of him._

_Charlie: The workroom was pretty fun today. Gabriel’s prank was the highlight of my day. And Tim loved my design!_

xxxxxxxxxx

At midnight, Tim called time, and the exhausted designers returned to their apartments. Cole went straight to bed while Gabriel and Castiel fixed themselves snacks. Gordon sank into a chair at the dining table and lit a cigar.

When Castiel settled at the table with a sandwich, he coughed at the smoke Gordon exhaled and glanced askance at him. “Would you mind taking that outside?”

Gordon deliberately blew smoke in Castiel’s face. “I live here, too.”

“Yes. But you are not the only one.”

Over Castiel’s shoulder, Dean noticed Gabriel’s expression grow furious. Dean patted Gordon on the shoulder. “C’mon, Gordon. Let’s go outside.” He stood up and headed toward the balcony, and Gordon soon followed.

“Why’re you kowtowin’ to that clown?” Gordon inquired after they’d sat on two of the chairs outside.

Dean shrugged. “I don’t really wanna piss Gabriel off any more, do you?”

“Yeah, guess that wouldn’t be a good idea.” He tapped his cigar on the ash tray then puffed on it again. “So, Dean. How do you think you’re gonna do in this challenge?”

Dean shook his head. “I dunno, man. Had to scrap my first design, and I don’t think I have enough time tomorrow morning to get the new one in good shape. I’ll be happy if I can just get Cassie’s naughty parts covered.”

Gordon whistled. “Wow. That sucks, man.”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t be surprised if I’m out tomorrow.” Yeah, he’d definitely be going home. Shit. At least he wouldn’t be the first one sent off.

“Dammit. I don’t wanna be left alone with the fags. What if one of them tries to seduce me?”

 _Oh, my God, is he serious?_ “Gay men don’t just go around trying to fuck every dude they find.”

“Don’t they?”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but no.”

“There’s this queer who lives in my neighborhood. He acts like that.”

“That’s just one guy.”

“He even tried to kiss me once.” Gordon shuddered.

“Well. We’ll see what the judges do tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Gordon put out his cigar, and Dean mulled over what he knew about him. Gordon was turning out to be rather unpleasant, but Dean didn’t want to leave him friendless. Besides, who else would he discuss cars with? Earlier tonight in the workroom, they’d had an interesting exchange about vintage vehicles. Dean doubted any of the other designers would fully appreciate Baby. He’d shown Gordon a picture of her, all shiny and spiffed up, and Gordon had admired her. In return, Gordon had whipped out a picture of his red 1979 El Camino. She’d been awesome, though she didn’t hold a candle to Baby, of course.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Dean rushed to finish up his ensemble while the models were sent to get their hair and makeup done. Shit, he’d never have it completed in time. He briefly considered sending Cassie out in the tablecloth dress instead, but that was a surefire ticket home. With the other dress, he had a better chance of staying, even if it was slim.

After they took their seats in front of the runway, Heidi announced that today’s guest judge was Andy Gallagher, who owned the Fun City franchise. Dean didn’t think the guy knew anything about fashion, but whatever.

Dean studied each design as the models walked the runway. Shit, almost everyone else had done a much better job than him.

Jo’s model strutted out in silver shorts made out of deflated balloons and a cardboard black tank top sprinkled with gold glitter. Cute, but probably just safe.

The next model, Linda’s, wore a knee-length short-sleeved blue dress. What was that material? The shoulder pads were made of greeting cards. Clever, but ew, shoulder pads. As the model stalked past him, Dean finally realized that Linda had used blue wire mesh.

Gordon’s design came next. The blue corset had been skillfully constructed. The outfit also contained a black circle skirt made of wire mesh and a top composed of deflated white balloons.

Charlie’s outfit was fun, a blue sheath dress comprised of wire and cardboard, liberally sprinkled with Sweet Tarts. Each Sweet Tart was inset in a red circle of tape, Dean observed. He grinned, glad she’d taken his advice.

Here came Cole’s awesome black-and-white picnic basket coat, with a black skirt and white blouse made of construction paper. If he didn’t win, it’d be criminal.

Hannah’s model sported a dress, the bottom portion of which was made of black licorice. The top half had black construction paper on one side and red on the other, the border between them a swirling licorice line. Cute.

Gabriel’s model wore a tacky knee-length long-sleeved dress made entirely out of beach balls. And who the hell matches that with a rainbow-colored wig?

Castiel’s offering, of course, was chic. His model’s black pants looked as if they’d been made out of leather. Castiel had paired it with a rainbow-colored blouse, and the combination brought a smile to Dean’s face despite himself.

And now came Dean’s hideous outfit. Poor Cassie. She worked the shit out of it, but it wasn’t much. Some red tinsel that barely covered her breasts and a short skirt made of silver tinsel. Dean cringed.

Bela’s model strode down the runway in a gorgeous silver ball gown. He knew she’d made the dress out of scrapbook paper, but somehow she’d coaxed it into looking like fabric.

Missouri’s model ended the show. She wore a white bikini made of ribbons, and one line connected the center of the bosom to the bottom, which barely covered the model’s crotch. Ouch. If Dean wasn’t a goner, then Missouri was.

After the show, the designers assembled on the runway, and Heidi declared, “When I call your name, please step forward.” She glanced down at her notes then back up. “Linda. Hannah. Charlie. Jo. Gordon.

“If I have called your name, congratulations. You’re in. You may leave the runway.” After the safe designers had filed away, Heidi continued, “The rest of you have the low scores and the high scores. One of you will be the winner, and one of you will be out.” Her gaze moved to Cole. “Cole. Let’s start with you. Tell us about your look and the materials you used.”

“Thank you, Heidi,” Cole replied. “I began with the coat, which I made out of a picnic basket.”

“That’s a picnic basket?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Wow, Cole sure was polite. “I wanted the eye to be drawn there, so I didn’t go too fancy with the skirt and blouse so they wouldn’t distract from the main piece. I stuck with construction paper.”

“I love that coat. So much.”

“Thank you, Heidi.”

“Yes, that coat is definitely a showstopper,” Zachariah put in. “Your instincts were right. Doing too much with the rest of the outfit would have made everything clash.”

“This is quite good,” Naomi agreed. “You wove the elements in the coat together very well. You’re skilled at your craft, and it shows.”

“Wow,” Andy tacked on. “I’m amazed to see how creative everyone was with my merchandise. Yours was my favorite.”

“Thank you,” Cole uttered. Yep. He’d gotten nothing but praise. Definitely the winner.

“Gabriel, tell us about your look,” Heidi resumed.

“I like the circus,” Gabriel explained, “and I wanted to create a tribute to it. Do something fun, y’know? Everything’s made out of beach balls.”

“Gabriel, I’m sorry, but this is simply awful.”

“Oh.” Gabriel looked crestfallen, and Dean secretly gloated. The guy was getting his just desserts for messing with him and Gordon yesterday.

“Remember that this is a _fashion_ competition,” Zachariah admonished. “Not a costume party.”

“That wig just takes it way over the top,” Naomi added. “Zachariah’s right. This is _Project Runway_ , not _Project Costume_.”

“I have to agree with the other judges,” Andy ended with. “No one could get away with wearing this. Not even a clown.” Dean suppressed the urge to laugh.

“Dean. Tell us about your look,” Heidi urged.

Shit. Here goes. “Uh. Yeah. I had to nix my first design, unfortunately. I made the top and bottom out of tinsel.”

“It looks itchy and uncomfortable, not to mention tasteless.”

“Dean, I can tell you put this design together at the last minute,” Zachariah offered. “On this show, people often pull out winners at the eleventh hour. This is not one of them.”

“I don’t care if this was your fifth design, Dean,” Naomi said. “Here, there are no excuses for bad fashion.”

“I feel sorry for your poor model,” Andy concluded. “She looks so uncomfortable.” Dean glanced at Cassie and winced. Yeah, she did appear a little embarrassed, and occasionally she tried to surreptitiously scratch underneath the tinsel.

“Castiel,” Heidi resumed. “Tell us about your look.”

“I used trash bags for the pants,” Castiel answered. “And gift bags for the blouse.”

“Those are trash bags, huh?”

“Yes.”

“They look so much like leather I was afraid you might have cheated on the challenge. They’re that good.”

“This is a fun piece, Castiel,” Zachariah declared. “Whimsical yet stylish. Good job.”

“Somehow you managed to tailor a trash bag. Well-done,” Naomi professed.

“Very creative,” Andy said. Dean grudgingly agreed with everything the judges had said.

“Bela, please tell us about your look,” Heidi said.

“I found this gorgeous shiny silver scrapbook paper, and it reminded me of fairy tales. I wanted to challenge myself to create something ethereal with that paper.”

“This is so dreamy, Bela.”

“I can definitely see the fairy-tale inspiration there, Bela,” Zachariah said. “And you used it without venturing into costume territory. It’s wonderful.”

“There’s not a bad angle to this, Bela,” Naomi chimed in. “It would even photograph beautifully in _Marie Claire_.”

“Oh, wow,” Bela exhaled with totally fake wide-eyed modesty. Dean wanted to slap her for such a stupid act.

“I can’t believe you made this in only one day! It sure is something,” Andy said.

“Missouri, please tell us about your look,” said Heidi.

“I wanted to make a cocktail dress entirely out of white ribbon, but I didn’t have enough. I thought it would still make a nice bikini, though.”

“You didn’t have enough to make a dress, yet you thought you would hang ribbons from her hair?”

 _Good point, Heidi_. Dean had been so busy gawking at the horrendous bikini that he hadn’t even noticed the ribbons hanging like chimes from strands of the model’s afro.

Heidi shook her head. “Those are so tacky.”

“What’d I tell you about excuses last week?” Zachariah complained. “There are no excuses for this monstrosity.”

“You didn’t even fully cover your poor model,” Naomi put in, appalled.

“It’s rather disappointing,” Andy concluded.

The judges had ripped her apart almost as much as they’d torn into Dean. Maybe there was some hope for him after all.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Cole: I can’t believe I’m in the top! I worked so hard on that coat, and I’m glad the judges love it as much as I do._

_Missouri: It’s just so frustrating when you have a perfect vision and you can’t bring it to life. If I’d had enough ribbon, I would have created a masterpiece._

_Gabriel: They don’t want me to make a costume? What the hell do they expect me to do with a party store challenge, make boring everyday clothes like everyone else did?_

xxxxxxxxxxx

The judges took for-freakin’- _ever_ to deliberate. Finally, they were called back to the runway, and Dean held his breath as he awaited his fate.

“Welcome back, designers,” Heidi began. “One of you will be the winner of the challenge, and one of you will be out.

“Castiel. Congratulations, you’re in. You may leave the runway.”

“Thank you,” Castiel mumbled as he shuffled away. Thank God he hadn’t won again.

“Cole, Bela. One of you will be the winner and have immunity for next week. Cole, you impressed us with your coat. Bela, your ball gown was beautiful and magical.” Heidi focused her gaze on Bela. “Bela. Congratulations, you are the winner of this challenge!”

Bela squealed and clapped her hands to her mouth. Her saccharine display made Dean want to barf.

“You may leave the runway.” She turned to Cole. “Cole, you’re in. You may leave the runway.” Cole thanked Heidi before retreating to the designers’ lounge. Unlike Bela, his modesty seemed genuine. Christ, he’d been robbed. Dean could admit, however, that Bela’s gown had been pretty kickass.

Now only the bottom designers were left. First, Heidi announced that Gabriel was in. Gabriel exaggeratedly wiped sweat from his brow before skipping off into the back.

And now came the moment of truth. “Dean, Missouri,” Heidi enunciated. “Your offerings were disappointing and unimaginative. Dean, your design was sloppily executed and lacked vision. Missouri, your styling was terrible, and your bikini didn’t even completely cover your model. Her eyes darted to Dean. “Dean.” He chewed his bottom lip nervously. “You’re in.”

She looked back at Missouri. “I’m sorry, Missouri, that means you’re out.”

“Whew,” Dean murmured to himself. He couldn’t believe he’d gotten another pass through. He definitely had to step it up next time. Being in the bottom three times in a row would all but guarantee his elimination.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Missouri: I’m not gonna sugarcoat it; being eliminated is disheartening. I feel like I didn’t get to show everyone what I’m capable of, and I wish I had been given at least one more chance to do so. Unfortunately, it just wasn’t in the cards._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mood--the fabric store where designers on _Project Runway_ shop


	3. Two of a Kind--Or Not

The group returned to the runway the next morning to hear about the third challenge. There, Tim Gunn and Heidi Klum met them, the latter bearing the dreaded black velvet button bag, which meant this would be a team challenge. Shit.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Jo: When I see that button bag, I know we’re in trouble._

_Gordon: I just hope Dean’s my partner. I can’t get along with anyone else._

_Cole: I’m a little scared of the team challenges. You have to compromise your vision, and if you get the wrong partner, everything can fall apart._

_Linda: I’m actually looking forward to doing a team challenge. It’ll be interesting to collaborate with one of the other designers._

_Gabriel: I’ll take anyone but Dean or Gordon, thanks._

xxxxxxxxxx

“Hello, designers,” Heidi called

“Hi,” they replied in unison.

She held up the bag. “As you can see, we’ve got the button bag here with us today.” A few of Dean’s competitors grimaced. “This week, we have a team challenge. You and your partner will have two days to create one ready-to-wear look and one high-fashion look. Your design aesthetics must be combined in each look, and the looks must be cohesive. As always, the button bag will choose who will work together.”

Dean held his breath, afraid of who he might be paired with. At least they had two days this time.

“Bela, since you won the last challenge, you can choose first.” Bela reached into the bag and, with a relieved smile, pulled out Cole’s name. “Okay, Cole, pick the next name from the bag. The person you get will then draw the name of their partner.” He drew Castiel’s name, which meant that Castiel would now pick his partner. Castiel blindly rummaged around in the bag for a minute before pulling out a name.

“Dean!” Heidi announced.

 _Dean_.

Dean’s partner was _Castiel_.

Shit. Wasn’t it enough he already had to share a bedroom with the guy? Even if they didn’t rip each other’s throats out, working together would be awkward.

Dean wound up grabbing Linda’s name, which meant she would select the name of her partner. That turned out to be Jo. After that, Hannah was partnered with Charlie.

Which left Gordon with Gabriel.

Dean watched as an expression of horror donned on Gordon’s face.

He was with Castiel, and Gordon was with Gabriel.

That couldn’t be a coincidence. The producers must have rigged this somehow.

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean and Castiel sketched together for thirty minutes, neither paying attention to the other. Dean planned out some elementals for both outfits, and it seemed that Castiel was doing so as well. One of them would have to give up on his vision.

And now, finally, on the _third freakin’ episode_ , they got to go to Mood. It sucked that he had to choose his fabrics with a partner. Castiel insisted they shop together, so Dean followed him until he stopped in a section filled with silk, lace, and a variety of gauzy fabrics.

“ _Hell, no_ ,” Dean snapped as Castiel ran his fingers over several of the choices.

“I know what I’m doing, Dean.” He picked up some fancy-looking black lace and studied it closely. “Just leave the fabric choices to me.”

“What? No way!”

He tucked the black lace underneath his arm. “Yes.”

“Dude, did you miss the part where we’re _supposed to combine our aesthetics_?”

“Of course not.” Huh. And he’d thought Castiel was a stickler for the rules. “But clearly, I am the superior designer, so you should let me take care of everything.”

 _Ass_. “Who says?”

Castiel sighed with impatience. “You have been in the bottom for both challenges, and rightly so. Those offerings were atrocious.”

Yeah, Dean knew they’d sucked, but what gave Castiel the right to deride him so much? He didn’t even know how to respond, so he just gaped at the blue-eyed man.

Castiel blinked. “I’m sorry, was that rude? Forgive me. My ‘people skills’ are rusty.” He actually used friggin’ air quotes, the weirdo.

“Whatever,” Dean mumbled. He strode away from Castiel. Fuck if he was gonna let the guy control their designs.

“Dean, where are you going?” Castiel called.

“To get some fabric.”

“Did you not hear anything I said?”

Dean turned to glare at Castiel. “Oh, I heard you.” As he meandered through the store, he heard the patter of Castiel’s footsteps trailing him. Dean stopped beside the plaid and grabbed red and blue shades.

“Plaid?! You want to purchase _plaid_?!” Castiel exclaimed disdainfully.

“Why not?”

“For one thing, it’s a pattern utilized only by backwoods rednecks and hicks—”

“ _Excuse me_?”

Tim yelled that time was up, so they dashed to the checkout counter. Dean clutched the plaid to his chest and gazed at Castiel defiantly until the cashier rang them up.

“We are _not_ using any of that,” Castiel huffed as they walked out of the store.

 _Think again, pal_.

xxxxxxxxxx

Back in the workroom, Dean shoved his sketchpad under Castiel’s nose. “So. Here’s what I thought we could do with the ready-to-wear look. We’ll make some leggings out of the red plaid—”

“You want to make _plaid leggings_?”

“Yeah, why not? It’s not somethin’ I see that often.”

Castiel shuddered as if Dean had just praised Satan. “With good reason.” He placed his sketchpad on top of Dean’s. “No. We’re not doing that. See here? The ready-to-wear look will be a variation on the little black dress—”

“The little black dress? Are you serious?”

“Why would I not be serious?”

“That is the most clichéd idea in the history of ever.”

“Surely you exaggerate.”

Had this dude never heard of hyperbole? “My idea’s better.”

“No, it’s not.”

Fuck. They could discuss the ready-to-wear design later. “What about the high-fashion look? I thought we could have a hood in blue plaid along with a peplum. You could use whatever to do the rest of the dress—”

“That’s even worse than your other idea.”

“All right, then what’s your oh-so-brilliant plan, Stan?”

Castiel wrinkled his forehead in confusion. “My name is not Stan.”

“Oh, my God,” Dean muttered, exasperated.

“I’m going to use this blue lace—” Castiel held up the fabric he mentioned. Apparently he’d picked up more than the black lace before following Dean around the store. “—to do a high collar, framing the neck, sort of avant garde.”

“No.”

“It is infinitely better than your idea.”

“God, you know what I hate? When people do those high collars to be avant garde? Seriously. It’s been done too much to be avant garde anymore. Besides, it looks like a freakin’ goiter.”

“Surely you jest.”

“No.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Well. We are going to use my designs.”

“Like hell we are.”

“Need I remind you that you have only ever been in the bottom.”

“Yeah, ’cause I didn’t hear you just say that in Mood.”

“I have no intention of landing in the bottom, and if we use your ideas, we’re guaranteed to be there.”

“But then we’re not including my aesthetic.”

Castiel shrugged. “If the judges ask about it, we can come up with a plausible connection.” He snatched up his scissors and began measuring his fabric. “I suggest we get started.”

Dean was so not on board with this. But soon Castiel was so engrossed in his work that he was oblivious to Dean, so Dean decided to start on his original ready-to-wear design. He kept glancing up, afraid Castiel would notice what he was doing and pick another fight. He breathed a sigh of relief when a PA came to retrieve him for his daily Skype call. Talking to Sam would help clear his head.

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean greeted him with. Damn, it was good to see the gigantor’s face.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam replied. He frowned. “Wow. You look stressed.”

“That’s ’cause I am stressed.”

“It’s that tough, huh?”

“Yeah. We’ve got a team challenge right now. Guess who my partner is.”

“Who?”

“Castiel.”

“Is that the guy you don’t like?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. That sucks.”

“As if sharing a bedroom with him wasn’t bad enough.” Something occurred to him. “At least my partner’s not Gabriel.” Thank goodness for small mercies. Poor Gordon.

“Who’s Gabriel?”

“This loudmouthed guy who likes to play pranks, apparently.”

“Apparently?”

“He stole my supplies, and Gordon’s, then put them by a spot he’d filled with superglue so we’d get stuck.” Sam burst into laughter, and Dean scowled. “It’s not funny, Sam.”

“Sure it is.” Dean continued to glare at him, and Sam’s chuckles gradually subsided. “So. Why’d he do it?”

Sam would reprimand him if he knew that he’d gone along with Gordon’s Straight Brigade. Sure, he’d probably learn about it once the show started airing, but that didn’t mean Dean had to mention it right now, so Dean shrugged. “I dunno. He’s a jerk?”

After he and Sam said their goodbyes, Dean returned to the workroom. There, Castiel dropped the garment he was working on, crossed his arms over his chest, and glowered at Dean. “I thought we said we were going with my designs,” he complained.

“No, _you_ said that,” Dean retorted.

Castiel held up the leggings Dean had begun making earlier. “These are hideous. Here.” He passed Dean a sketch of his little black dress. “You start on that.”

“I’m not makin’ this shit.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

He eyed the leggings disdainfully. “Well, you’re certainly not working on that.”

“Fine, you know what? I just not going to do _anything_.” Dean stalked away. When he passed Gordon, he asked if he wanted to take a break for lunch. Gordon followed him into the breakroom, where Dean grabbed a can of Coke, a bag of chips, and a BLT before joining Gordon at a table.

“So, how’re things goin’ with Gabriel?” Dean inquired.

Gordon sighed. “We can’t agree on anything, so I’m making the ready-to-wear look, and he’s making the high-fashion look.”

Oh. Maybe that’s what he and Castiel should do. But—“How’re your looks gonna be cohesive?”

“Dunno. Guess we’ll just have to hope they’re somehow cohesive enough for us to be safe. What about you? How’re you doin’ with Castiel?”

“He’s such an asshole,” Dean gritted out. “At least you and Gabriel are both creating something. The fucker won’t even listen to me. He gets mad if I try to do somethin’ on my own, and he keeps tryin’ to boss me around.”

“Yeah, well. At least you don’t have to constantly watch your back because your partner might play a joke on you.”

“Would he really do that? I mean, he wants to stay in the competition, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“So he wouldn’t want to sabotage his partner. He’d be sabotaging himself.”

“I hope he sees it that way.”

After lunch, Dean begrudgingly started on Castiel’s little black dress. He didn’t feel like arguing anymore.

Just before the end of the day, Tim came in to give everyone their critiques. When Tim approached them, Castiel confidently explained their work in progress.

“May I be blunt?” Tim asked.

Castiel blinked. “Of course.”

Dean experienced a surge of glee. He knew what Tim’s serious, worried tone portended. He did not like Castiel’s designs, and he was about to rip them—or Castiel, at least—apart. Dean hated to say “told you so” . . . no, actually, he didn’t.

“Frankly, Castiel, I’m disappointed in you. I expected more creativity.” Castiel’s expression remained stoic, but Dean noted the panic slowly settling into his eyes. “This little black dress is so pedestrian, and this high-fashion look . . . it’s been done. I don’t see your signature in either of these. And what has Dean contributed to these designs?”

“Um . . . ” Castiel mumbled.

“Collaboration is the key to this challenge. Think about that.”

“Yes, Tim.”

“Thanks, Tim,” Dean called, grinning as Tim strode toward Hannah and Charlie.

“Dammit,” Castiel whispered. He propped his elbows on the worktable and covered his face with his hands. “We have to start over, and we have only one more day.”

“Okay, so we’ll start over,” Dean echoed.

“I don’t have any other ideas.”

“Let’s use mine.”

“No.”

“Well, not _just_ mine. Tim said we needed to cooperate, remember.”

Castiel peeked out from between his fingers. “Yes.”

“So I’ll finish my leggings. How about instead of a little black dress, we make a babydoll dress? You can use some of your lace for the shoulders or the top or whatever.”

Castiel removed his hands from his face and straightened up. “And we could put fringe at the bottom.”

“Yes!”

“What about the high-fashion look?”

“We can brainstorm.”

“I don’t know, Dean. I am the better designer—”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, my God, not this shit again.”

“—You’ve been in the bottom for both challenges,” Castiel mentioned for the umpteenth time. “And I don’t want to be in the bottom.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.”

“How can I not worry about it?”

“If we’re in the bottom, you know who’s goin’ home?” Castiel gazed back at him silently, and Dean finished. “Me.”

“You don’t know—”

“Yeah, I do. Think about it. Who’re the judges gonna eliminate? The guy who’s been in the top both times and actually _won a challenge_ or the guy who’s been in the bottom two times in a row?”

“That’s not necessarily true.”

“Yeah, it is. And if I’m out, I wanna go on somethin’ of my own. Somethin’ I can stand by.”

Castiel thought about Dean’s words for a minute then nodded. “I can respect that. Okay. How about you take the lead, and I’ll add to your base.”

Dean gawked at him. Surely he hadn’t heard Castiel right. The guy would never propose to play second fiddle to Dean. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

Dean huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Okay. First thing is, we’re gettin’ rid of this goiter.” He pointed at the blue lace collar Castiel had been crafting before Tim had come to visit them.

Castiel smiled at him tentatively. “Okay.”

Dean and Castiel sketched out a rough plan. As soon as they finished, midnight struck, and they had to return to the apartment for the night. Tomorrow, he and Castiel would sew their asses off.

xxxxxxxxxxx

_Cole: I’m enjoying working with Bela. I like that she doesn’t take any shit, and she’s a great designer. I think she might be my biggest competition, so I’m happy we’re on the same team this week._

_Castiel: Tim did not like my designs, so I decided to let Dean be in charge. It kind of scares me. I hope it’s not a mistake._

_Charlie: Hannah seems like such a straight-laced girl, but she’s a big nerd underneath. Almost like me, if I was quieter. I want to work in some subtle_ Doctor Who _references, and she’s totally on board with it. [beams] It’s gonna be awesome!_

_Jo: Linda’s kinda like my mom . . . kinda like the mom of the group, actually. She’s great, but she keeps telling me my seams are sloppy and making me redo them. It’s frustrating._

_Gabriel: This challenge can’t be over soon enough. Gordon and I are doin’ our own thing, so I don’t have to talk to him that much, thank God. I don’t think I could hear him say more than two words without wanting to slap him._

xxxxxxxxxx

On day two of the challenge, Dean and Castiel started working as soon as they reached Parsons. For the high-fashion look, they decided to do something in all-white silk, which could turn out terribly if they didn’t execute the garment right. Since Castiel was more skilled technically (as Dean could begrudgingly admit), he would construct most of it. The vast majority of it would consist of a jumpsuit with three-quarter length pants and long sleeves. They planned for the model to walk down the runway with her arms straight down. Then, once she’d reached the end, she’d spread her arms out, and the fabric would drape from her shoulders to form wings. The look would be completed with a lacy white hood, loosely draped so that it mimicked a halo.

Castiel frowned. “But where are you in this design?”

“Are you kidding me?” Dean replied. “I sketched most of it, didn’t I? Except for the angel stuff.”

“Hmm. I suppose I am having a hard time grasping what your aesthetic is. Your first two looks don’t exactly indicate much about it . . . All I know is that you like jeans and plaid, neither of which are represented in this design.”

Now that he thought about it, Dean realized he’d never before articulated to himself what his aesthetic was. “I guess I like . . . to make the masculine feminine? Like, plaid is such a hard, masculine type of pattern, and I want to make it delicate. Like that damn lace you like so much.”

Castiel snorted. “Hard and soft. Is there a more clichéd description in fashion?”

“Hey, now. What about that ‘woman warrior’ crap. I see that _everywhere_ , man.”

“Yes, that does seem to be a common trope as well.”

“No, but seriously. I mean it in a different way. It’s hard to explain without making it sound like a cliché, but . . . I like messing with gendered conceptions of design. Like, I want to tailor men’s clothes for the female form.”

Castiel studied him, and God was his gaze intense. It unsettled him, and Dean was almost thankful when Gabriel shuffled over and whisked Castiel to the breakroom for a snack.

Dean began on the babydoll dress. After a while, he grew thirsty. He traipsed toward the breakroom but paused just outside it when he heard Gabriel mention his name.

“Working with Dean has not been a completely terrible experience,” Castiel declared. “Surprisingly.”

Wow, such stellar praise. Dean had thought they might’ve finally started getting along, but he guessed it was nothing more than a tense truce.

“Well, working with Gordon sucks ass,” Gabriel replied. “We’re just stickin’ to our own stuff so we don’t beat up on each other. Damn, I’d really like to mess with that hideous maxi dress he’s makin’.”

“But then you would risk being in the bottom. You’ve already been there once, Gabriel.”

“Yeah, I know,” Gabriel sighed forlornly. “Hey, a little birdie told me you were lettin’ Dean take charge of your project. That true?”

“Yes.”

“Seriously? His two offerings were shit.”

“I know. But Tim criticized my original designs, and I can’t think of anything else. I don’t see what other option I have.”

“But you might be in the bottom.”

“If that occurs, he’s more likely to be out than I.”

“Good point. Hey, if that happens, let’s hope they kick his ass outta here.”

“Dean is not that bad. You can reason with him. Unlike Gordon.”

“True.” Gabriel paused. “Hey, I forgot to ask you. Why’d you ask the producers to keep Dean around after he assaulted you? I thought we hated him.”

“I don’t _hate_ him,” Castiel corrected. His lips formed a small smile, and for some reason Dean found his eyes laser-focusing on them. “Besides, it was hardly assault.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Castiel sighed. “I suppose I didn’t think it would be fair.”

“What wouldn’t be fair?”

“For Dean to lose this opportunity due to poor judgment. I want to win because I am the best designer, not because one of my competitors behaved poorly.”

“But Dean’s probably a goner anyway. His stuff sucks.”

“Hmm. Actually, I think he does possess some talent. I don’t know if what he’s done so far truly represents what he is capable of.”

“But you’re still better than him, obviously.”

Castiel’s grin widened into something that managed to be simultaneously proud and self-deprecating. “Of course I am.”

Dean had heard enough, and he didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping. Forgetting about his thirst, he ventured to the bathroom so he could reflect on Castiel and Gabriel’s conversation. He didn’t know what to think of Castiel. The dude had had no qualms about deriding Dean as a designer, yet here he was telling Gabriel that Dean had talent. He acted as if they might have settled into the role of friendly acquaintances, but he sounded as if they’d established a temporary peace treaty for the challenge.

The notion saddened him.

But why should it? Didn’t he despise the guy? He was pretentious and socially awkward and aloof and rude—

And strangely adorable.

 _No. Stop that_.

Where the fuck had that line of thought come from? He pushed it back into its box.

Someone slammed the door open, and Dean jumped. Gordon gave him a puzzled look.

“Did I scare you?” Gordon laughed.

“Sorry. Guess I just zoned out.”

“What’re you doin’ hangin’ out in here?”

“Just felt like I needed a break from the workroom.” No way in hell could he share with Gordon what’d just happened. Gordon headed toward a urinal, and Dean scurried out of the bathroom.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Bela: As day two draws to a close, Cole and I are in great shape. We’ve definitely got this challenge in the bag._

_Gordon: My maxi dress is a winner. Gabriel’s bright whatever . . . it’s the most hideous thing I’ve ever seen in my life. No joke._

_Hannah: I don’t think the judges will get any of the_ Doctor Who _references, but Charlie and I had a lot of fun with them, and that’s all that matters._

_Charlie: Oh, my God, what if one of the guest judges was David Tennant or Matt Smith? I know it’s never gonna happen, but a girl can dream, can’t she? [Swoons.]_

xxxxxxxxxx

Runway time finally arrived, and Dean felt like he was gonna throw up. He was most likely leaving the competition today, and he didn’t feel ready even though he’d already packed his bags.

After introducing the regular judges, Heidi identified the guest judge for this challenge as Krissy Chambers, who would join the cast of the hit TV show _Wayward Daughters_ in the fall. The brown-haired girl couldn’t be more than eighteen; no way was she qualified to judge any of their work.

This time, Dean and Castiel’s designs walked the runway first. The white in their high-fashion look contrasted beautifully with Cassie’s skin tone. In fact, the entire look sent chills down Dean’s spine. They’d accessorized the jumpsuit with white pumps and a necklace bearing a white star pendant, and her eye makeup was edgy, with white lines extending from the corners. Castiel had wanted her to wear white lipstick as well, but Dean had pointed out that would make it seem as if Cassie had just sucked some dude’s dick, to which Castiel had snipped that Dean was “disgustingly crude.” But hey, they had to anticipate anything the judges might say, and they’d been known to ridicule things like that before. Instead, they’d gone for a soft rosy shade of lipstick.

When Cassie extended her arms to showcase the wings, the judges’ eyes widened in amazement. To Dean’s left, Gordon snickered.

“What?” Dean whispered.

“It makes me think of Batgirl,” Gordon whispered back.

Dean guessed Cassie kind of did look like how someone might imagine Batgirl. Shit. He hoped the judges wouldn’t ream them for it.

Castiel’s model, Anna, strode down the runway in their ready-to-wear look. Her fiery red hair, done in a braid to showcase the lace along the shoulders and the top of the back and front, contrasted sharply with the black of the dress. It also perfectly complemented the red plaid leggings. The fringe at the bottom of the dress added an original touch, and they’d completed the outfit with black leather ankle boots.

Overcome with excitement, Dean beamed at Castiel to his right. “She looks so awesome!” he exclaimed in a low voice.

“Yes,” Castiel replied quietly, sounding as if he couldn’t quite believe the truth of Dean’s words.

Next came Linda and Jo’s outfits. Their high-fashion look had one of those mullet hemlines Dean disliked, with the back of the dress longer than the front. Why the hell was that still in style? It was well-made, though, purple with a neckline and cuffs embroidered in gold. The ready-to-wear look was a plain green caftan with a hemline just above the knee. From there, a see-through, gauzy fabric had been used to extend the length to the ankle. Maybe they weren’t Dean’s favorite looks, but at least the designs were cohesive.

Gordon and Gabriel’s models appeared after that. The high-fashion look had Gabriel written all over it. The full-length skirt was a blinding shade of neon pink, and the strapless blouse was an equally painful hue of neon green. The model’s breasts were covered in what appeared to be two giant seashells dyed sky blue. Had those been left over from the party store challenge? Gordon’s ready-to-wear dress, though somewhat elementary, was less of an eyesore at least. His model sported a black maxi dress with thin black spaghetti straps, the entire garment lined with red horizontal stripes.

Cole and Bela presented the most complex and tasteful offerings, of course. The high-fashion look contained a black leather motorcycle jacket, zipped open a smidge to give the ensemble a pop of red from the blouse underneath, paired with black pants adorned with a thick silver stripe running down the side of each leg. The ready-to-wear look was comprised of a gray wool circle skirt, a red blouse with ruffles running down the length of the center, and a black leather capelet. Interesting material choice for a capelet, but it was kick ass and helped pull the two designs together.

Hannah and Charlie’s designs ended the runway show. The first look was a white floor-length evening gown that included a black bodice filled with stars. Dean could’ve sworn the stars formed constellations that loosely fit the shape of the TARDIS, but he was probably imagining things. The second garment was a manila shirt dress adorned with a red bowtie and matching red belt.

After the runway show, as usual, all of the designers lined up on the runway.

“Hannah and Charlie, please step forward,” Heidi declared. They obeyed. “Congratulations. You’re in. Please leave the runway. But first, Krissy would like to tell you something.”

“Hi,” Krissy said. “I just wanted to say I _loved_ how you incorporated _Doctor Who_ into your designs. Obvious enough for those in the know to spot it, but subtle enough to seem natural to those who might not. Good job.”

“Thanks!” Charlie enthused, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. Hannah smiled and thanked Krissy as well; then the duo headed toward the designers’ lounge.

“The rest of the teams have the high scores and the low scores.” Shit. With his record so far, Castiel and he were probably in the bottom. Well, at least he’d made it onto the show in the first place.

“Gordon and Gabriel, please tell us about your looks and who did what,” Heidi began.

“Yeah, I made this maxi dress,” Gordon announced.

“And the other look is mine, obviously,” Gabriel added.

“I hate to say this, but both looks are horrible.” Gordon and Gabriel winced. Dean had known they would be in the bottom based on Gabriel’s monstrosity alone. Dean crossed his fingers that Gabriel would be out instead of him, but he doubted it.

“The high-fashion look is gaudy and tasteless, and that maxi dress is just so plain,” Heidi continued.

“Yes, there’s nothing special about this maxi dress,” Zachariah agreed. “And that other dress looks like a poor version of something Madonna might’ve worn in the eighties.”

“The hem on that maxi dress is uneven,” Naomi pointed out. “And the other dress . . . it’s nauseating. Plus, there’s nothing cohesive about these looks, which violates the challenge.”

“I also don’t see how these looks go together,” Krissy ended with. “The maxi dress has no personality, and those boob bubbles or whatever you call those . . . it makes the breasts look clownish, and I don’t think any woman wants that.”

“No, definitely not,” Heidi concurred. “Cole and Bela, why don’t you tell us about your looks and who did what?”

“It’s hard to say who did what,” Cole explained. “It really was a collaboration.”

“Yes, we both just threw a bunch of ideas out there and grabbed onto the ones we liked best,” Bela added.

“These looks are so complex, yet you made them in only forty-eight hours. I really like that motorcycle jacket.”

“I can see both of your aesthetics clear as day,” Zachariah commented. “Those military stripes on the pants are all Cole, and that blouse with the skirt boasts Bela’s elegance.”

“The silhouettes are vastly different,” Naomi put in. “Yet these looks are still cohesive.”

“Those seams are so intricately done. They’re perfect,” Krissy said. Dean agreed, but how did she know? This kid was turning out to be more knowledgeable than Dean had imagined. “Both outfits are stylish—trendy yet timeless. I would _love_ to wear that motorcycle jacket. I can see that you two worked well as a team.”

“Dean and Castiel,” Heidi called. “Why don’t you tell us about your looks?”

Shit. Now the judges would regale Dean and Castiel with how much they hated the outfits. “Um,” Dean responded. “So we used some lace. And plaid.”

“I can see that.”

“We combined our aesthetics,” Castiel inserted. “My love for lace and the ethereal, and Dean’s . . . he likes to render what’s normally masculine into something, well, delicate.”

“I see. Those are both very intriguing looks. They give your woman a touch of mystery. I want to know more about this girl.”

“I must confess, I was worried that your team would present us with disastrous looks,” Zachariah opined. “No way did I think your aesthetics could blend together so flawlessly, yet they have. Great job, you two.”

“Almost everything here is divine,” Naomi declared. “Both in terms of the actual garments and the styling. My only problem is this high-fashion look. It looks like some weird fairy costume. It’s well-tailored, though. Fits Cassie to a T.”

“Well, I love the high-fashion look,” Krissy finished with. “You were going for an angel, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled.

“I can see the inspiration clearly. I love those leggings with that dress . . . patterned leggings can be tacky, but they work well here. There’s so much going on in that dress, what with the lace and the fringe, that it could’ve easily been too much, yet it isn’t. The more I study it, the more I like it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean thought he caught Gordon briefly scowling at him. What the hell? Was he jealous? Whatever. He’d try to puzzle that out later. Right now, he was too busy marveling that the judges had actually _praised_ his stuff.

Heidi moved on. “Linda and Jo, why don’t you tell us about your designs?”

“We wanted to do something joyful,” Jo answered.

“And flowy,” Linda added.

“At least your outfits do fit those criteria. But I’m sorry, this caftan’s just a little sloppy. The embroidery on the other dress is well-done, but the seams are a bit shoddy.” Jo’s face fell.

“The embroidery’s the best part,” Zachariah commented. “The rest of everything is just kind of blah.”

“The silhouettes are too much alike,” Naomi said. “That veil on the bottom looks like it was just tagged on to the caftan.”

“At least the looks are cohesive,” Krissy opined. “But they also seem kind of simplistic. I think you could’ve done more to make these garments stand out.”

“Cole, Bela,” Heidi ventured, “if your team emerges on top, who do you think should win?”

“We just put so much of both of ourselves into it that I don’t know if we can choose,” Cole replied.

“Yes,” Bela said, smiling tightly. Dean inwardly grinned. He could tell she really wanted to say the win should be hers, but she was afraid of looking like an ass next to Cole’s unselfishness.

“Castiel, Dean,” Heidi said next. “Who would you give the win to on your team?”

“Well, so far it seems that Castiel is probably the ‘superior designer,’ so maybe you should go with him,” Dean answered, injecting just enough flippancy in the statement to mess with Castiel. Castiel flinched at Dean’s words, and for some reason, Dean felt guilty.

“Dean should win,” Castiel decided. Dean’s mouth fell open. He pinched himself to verify he wasn’t dreaming. “He conceived of the majority of both designs, and I added the finishing touches.”

“Thank you. Gabriel, Gordon. Who on your team should be out?” Both Gabriel and Gordon pointed at each other, snarling.

“Oh, my. I suppose you didn’t work well as a team,” Zachariah concluded. Gabriel and Gordon simultaneously began chattering about how horrible the other one was, and Zachariah demanded that they shut up.

“Linda, Jo,” Heidi finally said. “Who should go home from your team?”

“I don’t think either of us should go home. We have so much more to show you,” Jo declared.

“Jo is a good designer,” Linda asserted. “I would hate to see her go, but I think I deserve to be here as well.”

“Thank you, designers. We’ve heard what you had to say. Please wait in the designers’ lounge while we deliberate.”

Back in the lounge, Charlie gushed about how cool it was that _Krissy Chambers_ was a fan of _Doctor Who_. Dean normally loved to talk about _Doctor Who_ , but Charlie’s chattering was getting on his nerves. Why was he so anxious, though? He was clearly staying for one more challenge.

He thought about asking Castiel why he had said Dean should win, but Castiel resolutely stared at the wall, ignoring everyone. What was up with him?

After a while, the judges called the designers back to the runway.

“Cole, Bela,” Heidi commenced. “Congratulations, you’re in. You may leave the runway.” After they departed, Heidi turned to the other high-scoring team. “Dean, Castiel. One of you will be the winner and have immunity for next week.

“Dean.” Dean held his breath, waiting for Heidi to announce he was in. “Congratulations, you’re the winner of this challenge.”

“You’re shitting me!” Dean exclaimed. Was this even real?

Heidi grinned. “Congratulations. You may leave the runway.”

Dean couldn’t believe it. He’d barely hung on last week, and now he’d _won a friggin’ challenge_.

Castiel soon followed him to the designers’ lounge. Except for Castiel, who seemed genuinely happy for Dean (what the hell?), the others congratulated him halfheartedly. His heart sank, but he understood. They still thought he agreed with all of Gordon’s opinions since they hung out together. He wished he could correct their misperceptions without losing his friendship with Gordon.

Linda, Jo, then Gordon all appeared in the designers’ lounge, which meant Gabriel was out. Linda and Jo tendered their congratulations to Dean, but Gordon did nothing but collapse onto a chair in relief.

That kind of hurt, but maybe Gordon would be happy for him later. The dude did just almost get eliminated, after all.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Gabriel: Hey, it’s not my fault the judges are too stuffy to appreciate my aesthetic. I know there’s a place out there for it, though. Trust me, you’ll be seeing me again. Yeah, I know everyone says that, but it’s actually true in my case. Really._


	4. In Real Life

_Gordon: Look, I’m happy Dean won the challenge. Really. But that Batgirl jumpsuit was borderline offensive. I don’t understand what the judges saw in it. At least we can chalk up a victory to the Straight Brigade._

xxxxxxxxxx

For the first time since the competition had begun, Dean woke up feeling confident. Why not? He was guaranteed to last for at least another challenge.

As usual, Heidi and Tim met them on the runway at Parsons. “Designers,” Heidi began. “This week, you will have a two-day challenge.” She added coyly, “It involves something you’re already familiar with.”

xxxxxxxxxxx

_Jo: Something we’re already familiar with? What does that mean?_

_Gordon: God, I hope that doesn’t mean they’re bringing back the eliminated designers or something._

xxxxxxxxxx

“For this challenge,” Heidi continued, “there will be no immunity. Instead, the winner’s outfit will be photographed for the cover of _Marie Claire_.”

xxxxxxxxxx

 _Charlie: The cover of_ Marie Claire?! _That’s huge!_

 _Bela: I_ have _to win this challenge. Watch out, bitches; this cover is mine._

 _Cole: Wow, just thinking about it gives me chills. My design on the cover of_ Marie Claire _. That would do wonders for anyone’s career._

xxxxxxxxxxx

After the excited buzz amongst the designers died down, Heidi added, “You’ll be creating your own fabric—with the help of that familiar something in the workroom. That fabric should be prominently displayed in your design.”

“Designers, will you follow me?” Tim called.

Tim led them into the workroom, where nothing seemed out of the norm. Everyone glanced around in confusion. A minute later, a woman in her late forties entered the room.

“Mom?!” Jo exclaimed, rushing up to her. Her mom pulled her into a tight embrace.

One by one, a relative, friend, or significant other poured into the workroom. Next came a teenage boy who was Linda’s son; then there was a brunette woman Charlie pecked on the lips. Some PA carried in a freakin’ Siamese cat and handed it to Bela. The next person who entered the workroom was—

 _Sammy_.

Sam smiled tentatively as he ambled over. “Hey, Dean,” he murmured.

“Sammy!” Dean enthused. He threw his arms around his brother and ruffled the moose’s shaggy hair. Sam grimaced. “Oh, my God, it’s so great to see you!”

“Yeah, it’s great to see you, too,” Sam stated as he pulled back, his grin widening. “So. I’m here for the challenge.”

“You’re that something familiar.”

“Yeah. The producers, they told us to tell you guys you’re supposed to create a fabric that expresses your relationship with us . . . me.”

“Guess a PA will have to tell Bela that.”

Sam surveyed the room. “Is she the one with the cat?”

Dean’s lips twitched with amusement. “Yeah.”

Sam’s eyes skimmed her appreciatively. “Wow. Never would’ve pegged her for a cat lady.”

“Sammy! What would Jess say?”

“Hopefully nothing.” Dean gave Sam a baleful look. “What? I’m thinkin’ it won’t show up on national TV.”

“Probably not,” Dean acknowledged. Glancing around the room, Dean noted that everyone now had someone—or, in Bela’s case, her pet—standing next to them except Castiel. A second later, a smarmy man with dirty-blonde hair and a black V-neck T-shirt strolled into the workroom and planted a huge kiss on each of Castiel’s cheeks.

Figured Castiel would have a douche for a boyfriend.

“Which one’s Castiel?” Sam asked. “And Gordon.”

Dean gestured at Gordon, who was chatting animatedly with a blonde guy. “That’s Gordon.” He indicated the worktable on his other side. “And that’s Castiel.”

Sam studied him. “He doesn’t look like such a bad guy.”

Dean shrugged. “So. This fabric.”

“Yeah.”

Dean picked up the HP tablet on his worktable. “Guess I’m supposed to use this to design it.”

“I think so.”

“I want it to convey our bond—our brotherly bond, but also our family. Like, I’m thinking tires and flannel and apple pie and tomato rice soup.”

“How’re you gonna fit all that into one fabric?”

“Dunno.” A commotion out of the corner of his eye caught Dean’s attention. He turned toward the frantic movement and discovered it was Castiel wrenching himself out of his boyfriend’s arms.

“Cassie, babe—” the boyfriend began in a British accent.

“Leave me alone,” Castiel interrupted. Dean noticed the tense body language of Castiel’s shoulders, a tremor of something—fear?—in his voice.

The boyfriend rolled his eyes. “You’ve always been so melodramatic.”

“I am not being melodramatic.” Castiel spun around and stalked off into the breakroom.

“Dean? Are you listening?” Sam inquired.

“Just a sec, Sammy. I’ll be right back.” Dean rushed after Castiel, determined to find out what the hell was going on.

“Can someone find me a producer?” Castiel shouted as Dean slipped into the breakroom.

“What do you want with a producer?” Dean asked.

Castiel eyed him with exasperation. “Oh, you’ll love this, Dean. I’m quitting the show.”

Dean’s jaw fell open. “What?” Seriously, Castiel was one of the top competitors. Why would he leave?

“I cannot be in the vicinity of that man out there, and if the producers wish otherwise, I am not staying.”

“Dude, you can’t quit!”

“Why not? I thought you hated me.”

“I don’t hate you, man.” Okay, maybe he had at first, but the guy had grown on him since the last challenge.

Curious, Castiel raised an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

“No. And you—you made them keep me here, okay? So I’m not lettin’ you leave.”

A middle-aged man, presumably a producer, appeared. “What is it you want, Castiel?”

“I—” he glanced at Dean and paused. “I would like Balthazar to leave.”

“I am afraid that is not possible.”

Castiel’s expression hardened into annoyance, but elements of fear gradually crept through _._ “Please?” His voice quivered.

“Come with me. I’ll explain. Then you must return to the workroom if you want to remain in the competition.”

Castiel nodded reluctantly. “Okay.”

Dean watched Castiel and the producer retreat, stunned. He never would’ve thought Castiel could look so discomposed, so hesitant; he’d struck Dean as nothing but confident.

Dean was pissed on his behalf, too. Why should he be saddled with the presence of someone who clearly rattled him when everyone else got to experience a joyful reunion? Hell, they’d brought Bela’s cat; why couldn’t they do something similar for Castiel?

All right, so maybe he didn’t have a pet. But still.

“Hey,” Dean yelled at a nearby PA.

The young man flinched. “Yes?”

“Why can’t the producers get rid of Balthazar or whatever his name is?”

The PA swallowed. “I have been informed that Castiel has no one else.”

“What do you mean?”

“He has no friends or family we could invite.” Really? Dean was stunned. Even someone as conceited as Castiel should have _someone_. The thought that he actually had no one provoked a spasm of melancholy.

“What’s Balthazar to him?”                                                                   

“His boyfriend.”

“Really?” If Balthazar were his boyfriend, surely Castiel would’ve been glad to see him.

“Okay, ex-boyfriend,” the PA admitted.

That explained why Castiel didn’t want to see Balthazar, but not why he’d been scared of him. Odd.

Dean decided to return to the workroom and puzzle the matter out later.

“Everything all right?” Sam asked when Dean reappeared.

“Fine,” Dean replied. He hefted the HP pad. “Why don’t we start designing this fabric?”

xxxxxxxxxx

After the fabric designs had been sent off to the printers, the producers took the designers and their guests to lunch at a nice restaurant. They even let Bela bring her cat, who lolled in Bela’s lap the whole time.

While they waited for their drinks, Charlie suggested they each introduce their guests. “This is Dorothy,” she announced. “And she’s a boss, yo. You know who her great-grandfather is?”

Dorothy reddened. “Oh, no, not this again.”

“L. Frank Baum!”

“L. Frank Baum?” Hannah echoed from Charlie’s right side. “As in the man who wrote _The Wizard of Oz_?”

“Yes,” Dorothy mumbled.

“Nice.”

“Your turn, Hannah,” Charlie said.

“Me? Oh.” She indicated the brown-haired girl sitting next to her. “This is my daughter Caroline.”

“Hi,” Caroline said shyly, halfway hiding behind her mom.

“I named my Etsy shop after her. Sort of. Hannah Caroline.” She turned to Cole, continuing the circular progress of the introductions. “Your turn.”

The man next to Cole sported a brown beard. “This is Kit Verson. My boyfriend. We, um. We served in the military together.”

“Hiya, Kit!” Charlie called.

“Hi,” Kit replied.

Jo went next. “This is my mom.”

“Ellen Harvelle,” her mother added.

Bela held up her cat, who hissed. “This is Abby.” She lowered the cat back to her lap and massaged her back. Abby purred. “She’s my baby. Aren’t you?”

The line moved to Linda. “This is my son Kevin.” She beamed. “He’s a National Merit Scholar.”

“Awesome!” Charlie exclaimed.

Gordon was next. “This is Kubrick. We run the Bible study at church.”

Finally, they’d reached Dean. “This is my brother Sammy.”

“Sam,” his brother corrected.

Castiel, who’d somehow ended up next to Dean, was last. “This is Balthazar. My b—b—boyfriend.” Boyfriend? Wasn’t Balthazar an ex?

“Hi, everyone,” Balthazar said.

“Oh, wow, you’re British!” Charlie marveled.

Balthazar grinned, smarmy as fuck. Dean hated him on principle. “Indeed, mon cheri.” He picked up Charlie’s hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles.

“Aren’t you the charmer!” Charlie giggled.

“Kevin’s going on a school trip to London this summer,” Linda said.

“Oh, he’ll have tons of fun. London’s _such_ a great little place!” A great little place? It wasn’t like he was referring to some quaint village.

Their food arrived, and Balthazar snatched at Castiel’s hand underneath the table. It twitched, and Castiel looked askance at Balthazar before settling into the touch. Everyone around Dean chatted with each other, Sammy even striking up a conversation with Castiel about random nerdy shit.

Charlie, Dorothy, Hannah, and Caroline eventually turned to Castiel and Balthazar. “So, how’d you two meet?” Charlie asked.

Balthazar chuckled. “I found Cassie sleepin’ on a bench in Central Park. He looked like this weird Amish kid, with these bloody old-fashioned trousers and suspenders. All so neatly pressed, too.”

Hannah eyed Caroline then glanced at Balthazar. “Please, can you watch your language? Caroline’s only eight.”

“Sorry, love.” He addressed Caroline. “Do you like candy?” Caroline nodded, and Dean got this queasy feeling, almost like Balthazar was some icky stranger trying to coax a child into his van. Balthazar pulled a Hershey’s bar out of his pocket and handed it to Caroline. “Here you go.”

Caroline squealed with delight and smiled brightly. “Thanks!”

“You’re welcome.”

“Why were you dressed like that, Castiel?” Charlie inquired.

“He comes from some fundamentalist family in a small town—”

Castiel placed his free hand on Balthazar’s shoulder. “Balthazar, please,” he pleaded. More loudly, he declared, “It’s personal.” Charlie nodded.

“You should’ve seen him back then. It must’ve been, what, five years ago, Cassie?”

“Eight,” Castiel gritted out.

“My, how time flies. So, I brought him home to get cleaned up. We took a shining to each other, and here we are.”

“That’s quite a story,” Sam inserted.

“He—Heck of a way to begin indeed. You should’ve seen Cassie back then, all gaunt and doe-eyed and unruly hair. Naïve as a baby. So awed by the big city. Overwhelmed by all the noise, with so many questions.”

“Have any stories?” Charlie prompted.

“Yeah. So, one day, I took Cassie down to Broadway. And—”

Castiel jumped out of his seat, his plate rattling. Everyone turned to him. “Um. Excuse me,” Castiel said. “I need to visit the restroom.”

Clearly, he was upset, what with his stiff shoulders and clenched teeth, not to mention the shifty eyes. He stumbled in the direction of the bathroom.

Dean returned to the conversation at hand to find no one had picked up on the signs Castiel had exhibited. Hannah, Charlie, Sam, and even Caroline were giggling at something Balthazar had said.

Well, if no one else would worry about Cas, Dean would.

Dean excused himself and traipsed after Castiel to the bathroom. When Dean caught the door before it closed behind him, Castiel froze and whipped around to see who’d followed him. When he realized it was Dean, his shoulders sagged with relief, but then he abruptly straightened up again. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to see if you’re all right,” Dean answered.

Castiel snorted and splashed some water on his face. “Why would you care?”

“’Cause. I don’t like to see people with that deer in the headlights look.”

Castiel wiped his face off with a paper towel. “I should’ve never let you talk me into staying.”

“Don’t say that.” Dean paused. “Hey, can I ask you somethin’?” Cas shrugged. “How come you’re pretendin’ that guy out there’s your boyfriend?”

“Because he is.”

“Bullshit.”

“You don’t know—”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. A PA told me what was up.”

Castiel sighed. “Balthazar is my ex. He’s also the only connection I have in this world.”

“What?”

“My family cut ties with me when I was twenty. All of my friends, or old friends, I suppose you’d call them, are Balthazar’s. They stopped associating with me when we broke up; then I moved to Buffalo.”

“From New York?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Castiel chewed his lip, and Dean thought he knew the answer before Castiel voiced it. “I wanted to get away from him.”

“Balthazar.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Castiel stiffened. “None of your business.” There was that subdued panic again, flashing in his eyes.

Pretty eyes that should never look that distraught—

_Can it._

“Did he hurt you?” Dean asked softly.

Castiel winced and cowered slightly, his back resting against the sink. “How did you know?” he whispered.

“I know the signs.” He’d seen those almost imperceptible tells in Mom when Dad had yelled at her, made her feel bad. Like Cas, she’d tried to put on a brave face, but Dean could always tell it was an act. He’d hug her tight, tell her he loved her and would never leave her when Dad would threaten to move out.

Cas’s bottom lip trembled. “I thought I’d finally gotten away from him.”

Dean shook his head. “The producers shouldn’t have brought him back. That’s fucked up. . . So. Why’re you pretendin’ he’s still your boyfriend?”

“The producers asked me to. They wanted . . . they wanted me to have a story that fit in smoothly.”

“Motherfuckers,” Dean mumbled.

Cas smiled grimly. “Perhaps we should return to lunch.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Castiel dabbed his eyes with the paper towel, tossed it into the trash, and followed Dean back to the table, where they finished their meal and made small talk with the others. Toward the end, Cas threw Dean a hesitant grin, and it felt special, like their own little secret.

xxxxxxxxxx

After lunch, they said goodbye to their guests; then they visited Mood to buy fabric to supplement the one they’d created. When they got back to the workroom, Dean rushed to his table, eager to unroll his fabric.

“Awesome,” he muttered to himself after spreading it out.

He’d designed a fabric primarily comprised of red and black, crinkled and marbled like something well-worn and well-loved. He already had his outfit planned—pants made of his fabric, a white sports jacket with pockets on the chest made from his fabric as well as a large portion of the back, with a black blouse underneath. It was ambitious, but if there was a week to take risks, this was it. Since he’d won the last challenge, he was safe for this one, and he wanted to show the judges what else he was capable of. Illustrate that he was talented, that his performance during the last challenge hadn’t been a fluke.

He was curious about everyone else’s fabric, though. He headed toward Gordon’s table, eager to see his friend’s first.

“Hey, Dean-o,” Gordon greeted him, gesturing at the fabric. “Check it out.”

It was a large off-white sheet emblazoned with the shadow of Jesus’s face.

Dean snorted. “Seriously?”

Gordon’s expression grew stormy. “You would dare blaspheme?”

He’d known that Gordon was devout, but a zealous nutjob? He never would’ve guessed. “No, it’s just— _Jesus_ is on your frickin’ fabric.”

“Yeah, so? It’s supposed to represent my friendship with Kubrick, isn’t it? And we run Bible study together, so I thought I’d create a replica of the Shroud of Turin.”

“Ah. I see.” He didn’t tell Gordon that he was probably taking the challenge prompt a little too literally; he’d already upset Gordon enough. “But you’re gonna have to cut Jesus’s face up, y’know.”

Gordon looked horrified. “Shit. I didn’t think of that. ”

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll figure it out.”

He skipped over to Charlie’s table and smiled at her design. Her fabric was a bright yellow with shiny colorful dots sprinkled all over it. It was so happy and vibrant and _Charlie_. “I love your fabric,” Dean told her.

“Thanks,” Charlie replied. She waved a dismissive hand at him. “Now shoo.”

“Hey, why’re you bein’ so mean to me?” Charlie glared at him as if he was an idiot. “Are you still not over the Straight Brigade thing?”

“It’s obnoxious.”

“Listen, I’m not a homophobic asshole or anything.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Really. I was just glad to meet another straight guy ’cause, well, I thought I’d be the only one.”

“You think that makes it sound any better?” Dean sighed with exasperation. “What a great basis for a friendship,” she remarked sarcastically. “That’s like if I came here and spent most of my time with the only other lesbian designer just because she was a lesbian. If there were another lesbian designer here.”

“Would you?”

“No. Now go. I’ve got work to do.”

He could see Charlie’s point, but still. Was it so bad that he’d bonded with Gordon over their straightness?

Everyone else looked busy, so Dean strolled back to his worktable. He noted Cas nearby, frowning down at his fabric and fingering his lip, eyes despondent. Dean didn’t want the dude to sink into a hole of despair.

He approached Cas. “Hey, Castiel.”

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

Dean glanced down at Castiel’s fabric, and it gave him chills. It was black with these small blue circles, crazy yellow and red streaks of lightning extending from the circles in no discernable pattern, violent slashes of white occasionally running through the lightning. “Wow,” Dean breathed. “Your fabric . . . it’s awesome. In the old sense.”

“Thank you.”

Dean waved a hand at it. “What is all this?”

“Dendrites. One of the components of neurons; these—” Castiel pointed at one of the blue circles. “—are soma, from which the dendrites project.” He shrugged. “I thought it an accurate representation of my relationship with Balthazar. How I became so tangled up in him, how he made me feel . . . happy at first, then angry. These—” He indicated one of the white slashes. “—they symbolize our relationship as it became more destructive, the violence directed at my psyche, me losing pieces of myself.” He sniffled then swallowed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to subject you to my baggage.” He dabbed his eye with an index finger.

Dean had to swallow around the lump in his throat. No one should have to endure that kind of pain. “Cas—”

Cas frowned in confusion. “Cas?”

“Oh, shit, sorry, um, I meant Castiel—”

“You may call me Cas, if you wish.” He lowered his eyes. “Just please don’t ever call me Cassie,” he said softly.

“I won’t. And Cas?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry for . . . all this.” He swept his hand over the expanse of the fabric.

Cas cleared his throat. “You should get to work.” Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Cas scowled at him, so he shuffled back to his worktable.

“Why were you talkin’ to him?” Gordon asked Dean a minute later.

Dean shrugged. “Why not?”

“Um, he’s an awkward, annoying fag—”

“Careful, Gordon. If you wanna work in this business, you shouldn’t use language like that.”

“Whatever. But seriously—why?”

“He wasn’t working, and I thought I’d maybe see what was wrong.”

“He’s the competition, Dean-o. You don’t need to _help_ him.”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

Gordon frowned at him then nodded before returning to his worktable.

Cas was still staring at his fabric.

xxxxxxxxx

In the early evening, Tim came to check on everyone. Dean listened in when Tim conferred with Gordon.

“What are you planning to do with this fabric?” Tim asked.

“I’m trying to think of a way to keep the core unaltered, not cut up the fabric too much, because then it’ll ruin the point of the fabric,” Gordon explained. “Do you think I could just use it to make a cape?”

“No, that would not be within the parameters of the challenge. Your fabric must make up the majority of your design.”

“But a cape would be the majority of the back view.”

“Perhaps, but a cape should supplement the design, not be the centerpiece of it.”

“I can try to think of a way to make it into a dress.”

“That sounds like a more viable idea. Make it work!”

“Thanks, Tim.”

“Dean, what are you working on?” Tim inquired when he’d reached Dean’s worktable.

Dean gestured at his work in progress. “I’ve got these pants; then I thought I’d make a sports coat and add some of my fabric to it. And I’ll make something to go underneath the coat, of course.”

“I must say, this is quite ambitious.”

Dean flushed. “Uh huh.”

Tim hefted the fabric in his hands. “And this fabric is wonderful. I must say, I’m impressed.”

Dean smiled, astounded that Tim actually liked his design. “Yeah?”

“Yes. And congratulations on last week’s win. You deserved it.”

“Thanks, Tim.” He felt a flutter of warmth at Tim’s praise. It gave him confidence that maybe he really could stay for a little while longer, that he wouldn’t lose the challenge after this one.

“Hello, Tim,” Castiel said when Tim walked over to him.

“Hello, Castiel.” He glanced down at Castiel’s mass of unshaped fabric and frowned. “This fabric is very powerful, Castiel. But it seems you haven’t begun yet. Is that true?”

Castiel sighed. “I am having difficulty focusing.” He pointed at some of the fabric he’d pinned on the dress form. “I’ve been toying with draping it, but I am unsatisfied with the results so far.”

“Come, Castiel. You are such a talented designer. You can make it work, but you need to get started ASAP.”

Castiel smiled grimly. “Thank you, Tim.”

As he worked through the rest of the night, Dean occasionally observed Cas’s progress. He would start on a dress, sigh after a while, and toss it aside in favor of trying something new. By the end of the day, he still had no finalized design.

xxxxxxxxxxx

 _Jo: Tim_ hated _my fabric. He said that if it didn’t violate the challenge, he would have suggested that I get rid of it._ [scowls at the camera] _I put so much thought and soul into it that I couldn’t help but feel offended. Whatever. I’m not changing my plans, and if the judges don’t like what I do, I guess that’s that._

_Bela: I’m actually worried about this challenge. I wasn’t at first, but Tim always loves my designs. Today, though, he said my dress made my model look like a cavewoman! When he pointed it out, I saw what he meant, and ugh. I definitely need to refine my design._

_Linda: Tim liked my theme of lifelines, which is what my fabric represents. I think I’m in good shape._

_Cole: Tim told me my ideas were too big, that I couldn’t finish what I’d planned in time for the challenge. So I’m trying to think of a way to simplify things._

xxxxxxxxxx

When the alarm blared at six, Dean reluctantly opened his eyes. He’d been so tired last night that he’d fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. When he finally sat up, he noticed something was off.

Castiel usually shot out of bed as soon as the alarm went off, but now he burrowed his face deeper into the pillow.

“Cas?” Dean ventured.

“What?” Cas mumbled into the pillow.

At least he was awake. “Aren’t you gonna get up?”

Cas pulled the blankets tighter around himself. “I don’t wanna.”

“C’mon, man, we’ve gotta go to Parsons.”

“No.” He shrank. “I’ll forfeit.”

“Like hell you will.”

Cas’s eyes popped open. Dean marveled at how red they were. Dude must not’ve gotten any sleep. “Excuse me?”

“You can’t quit, man.”

“Why not? I’m going to lose the challenge anyway.”

“Not necessarily.”

Castiel snorted. “If I don’t finish a garment, I will.”

“So think of something. You’ve crushed the competition so far. You can do this.”

“I can’t. I’m nothing. Everyone says . . .” He closed his eyes, and a few tears seeped out from beneath his eyelids. “Alone, I’m nothing. I am inept in the real world, on my own. I am no one. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.” As Cas spoke, his voice gradually grew more robotic, as if reciting something he’d been drilled to spout on command. It freaked Dean the fuck out.

Imagining how often Balthazar must have hammered those words into Cas’s head, he felt sick. And Cas had been so strong, too, nothing but confident until that asshat had come here and ripped up what he’d rebuilt of himself.

Cas’s eyes flew open again, and he stared up at the ceiling.

“Come on, Cas. That ain’t true. Just try at least?”

Cas sighed. “Very well.” He released a hollow laugh. “It’s not as if I have anything better to do.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean actually finished his work ahead of schedule. He didn’t think he’d ever sewn so much in such a short time in his life. The models would come in soon for hair and makeup, but right now Dean could breathe. He checked on Gordon, who appeared to be making another maxi dress. Bad idea, considering how he’d fared in the last challenge.

He wandered over to Cas’s table, where swaths of fabric were strewn everywhere. When he spotted Dean, he glanced up and smiled tentatively. “Hello, Dean.”

“Heya, Cas. How’s it goin’?” Dean replied.

Cas sighed. “I fear I will not finish this in time.” He indicated distressed strips of his fabric lying on the table. “I still need to sew those onto the skirt, but I’m not even done with this top.” He held up the long-sleeved blouse he’d just brought back from the sewing machine.

He saw what Cas was aiming for with his look, and it’d be a shame if he didn’t get to bring that vision to life. “I can do that for ya.”

Cas squinted in bewilderment. “What?”

Dean gathered the strips. “How d’you want me to put these on?”

“Are you seriously offering to help me? What about your own work?”

Dean shrugged. “I’ve got a little time to spare.”

“Well, if you don’t mind . . . I would greatly appreciate it,” Cas said hesitantly.

Using Cas’s sketch as a guide, Dean arranged the strips on the skirt until the models arrived. As they prepared to head to the runway, Gordon confronted him.

“Why were you helping Castiel finish his outfit?” Gordon raged. “Do you _want_ to give him an unfair advantage?”

“Just thought it’d be nice,” Dean muttered.

“That’s cheating.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He hadn’t heard Gordon complaining about Linda assisting Jo, which Dean had observed today. Hell, he’d probably be more than happy to let Dean help him if he was struggling to finish.

“It’s not like I designed his shit for him,” Dean protested.

“Gordon, Dean!” Tim called. “It’s runway time!”

They followed Tim out of the workroom and took their seats by the runway. As usual, Heidi, Zachariah, and Naomi were present, and they were joined by Gwen Campbell, an up and coming designer.

“Let’s start the show,” Heidi declared before assuming her spot at the judges’ table.

Linda’s model walked out first, wearing a cute white dress striped horizontally with red lines fashioned like those on an EKG. Though he liked the dress, Dean wasn’t that impressed. It was a little too basic.

Bela’s dress, made entirely from fabric designed to look like her cat’s fur, consisted of a well-done A-line skirt. She’d added a black belt to the ensemble, and for some damn reason, her model was wearing a tiara. Like Cas, Bela seemed to be one of the top contenders, so Dean was surprised she’d created such a subpar, unimaginative fabric.

Charlie’s girl sported a strapless gown with a flouncy bottom, the entire dress made of that bright yellow fabric covered in glitter. A silver belt adorned the waist, and white tulle peeked out from the bottom of the dress, which hit at the model’s ankle. Dean couldn’t help but smile at its vibrancy.

Next came Cole’s model, who wore a long sleeve shirt in a green camouflage color. The drop crotch pants (ew, Dean hated those—seriously, they made the poor girl look like she had on a diaper) bore the colors of the gay pride flag blended in with a camouflage design. Dean could see where Cole had been going with the design, but the top and bottom colors clashed.

When Gordon’s model walked, Dean had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. The maxi dress had Jesus’s face plastered all across the woman’s torso. Ridiculous.

Hannah’s fabric, though pedestrian, was sweet, black scattered with white stick figures. She’d used it to make a knee-length dress, perfect for summer when paired with the sky blue shawl she’d included.

Cassie strolled down the runway next, and Dean held his breath. As he watched her, he grinned, proud of what he’d accomplished.

“It’s wonderful, Dean,” Cas whispered to him. Dean turned to thank him, but found himself speechless when he noticed how much Cas’s blue eyes sparkled, how they seemed almost—enchanted?—by Dean’s work.

Framed by those long lashes, they were a pretty sight—

Dean reddened and mumbled a thanks as he jerked his attention back to the runway.

Jo’s model strutted out in a tube dress, manila-covered with black letters scattered all over it. Such a simple dress was guaranteed to be in the bottom.

Cas’s outfit closed the runway show. Dean almost gasped when Anna first stepped onto the runway. A black veil concealed her face, but she quickly tossed it back in a dramatic fashion. Cas had constructed a top made from his fabric and long black sleeves, ending in netting with a hole hooked over each index finger. The skirt had also been created out of Cas’s fabric, and the haphazard patched-on strips gave Dean an eerie feeling, like he was trapped.

“Cas, it’s amazing!” Dean whispered a little too loudly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gordon’s lips curl in disgust.

Cas seemed startled by the praise, but he thanked Dean after a speechless moment.

When the show was over, Heidi announced, “When I call your name, please step forward. Dean. Jo. Gordon. Castiel. Cole. Charlie.

“If I have not called your name, congratulations. You’re in. You may leave the runway. The rest of you represent the high scores and the low scores. One of you will be the winner, and one of you will be out.”

As Hannah, Linda, and Bela (whose face had flashed in disappointment when she’d realized she was merely safe) retreated to the designers’ lounge, Dean pondered whether he had a high or low score. Except for last week, the judges had never liked his stuff. With good reason, but still. He was probably in the bottom. At least he wouldn’t be out, though, since he had immunity.

“So, you had a special treat this week,” Heidi pointed out. “What did you think?” Everyone except Cas professed their excitement. “And your designs were based on your relationship with this person. I am interested to hear your stories.

“Cole, why don’t you go first? Please tell us about your look and your fabric,” Heidi prompted.

“It represents my relationship with my boyfriend Kit. We met in the army, and we liked each other right away. Now, being gay in the army, it’s not illegal anymore, but there’s still a stigma attached to it. The other guys rag on you, sometimes even pick fights.

“Kit and I hid our relationship at first, but we decided to come out, embrace who we are. A lotta people gave us a hard time, but we got some support, too.

“So this top, it’s our army background, and so is the camo theme on the pants. I used the gay pride flag as my fabric because . . . Well, I’m proud of who I am, and my relationship with Kit really is the most important thing in the world to me.”

“I like your story, but these colors . . . they do not look good together. At all.”

“This would’ve worked much better if you’d used a neutral color for the top. Like white or black,” Zachariah opined. “Right now, it’s too much. The eye doesn’t know where to go.”

“Uh huh,” Cole mumbled.

“I’m sorry; I just hate those pants,” Naomi put in. “But we all know I’m not a fan of the drop crotch style.” Yeah, Dean remembered reading that in an article covering current trends certain fashion designers hated. “But even if I did like it . . . that fabric is a little obvious, don’t you think? It’s quite literal.”

“I agree with Heidi and Zachariah,” Gwen Campbell said. “Those colors clash.”

Heidi moved on. “Thank you, Cole.” She turned to Charlie. “Charlie, tell us about your look.”

Charlie smiled brightly, but her tight cheeks betrayed her anxiety. “Yeah. Okay,” she squeaked. “I got to see my girlfriend, Dorothy.” Her expression grew fond. “She’s actually the great-granddaughter of L. Frank Baum. The guy who wrote _The Wizard of Oz_?” The judges nodded, intrigued. “And my life with her, it’s been so joyful and exuberant, and that’s how I always feel when I watch _The Wizard of Oz_. It’s so magical, and I just wanted to capture that magical mood with my dress and the fabric.” She chewed her lip as she waited for the judges’ verdict.

“I love it,” Heidi commented.

Charlie sighed in relief and giggled nervously. “Oh, thank God,” she breathed.

Heidi grinned at her. “I think you did what you set out to accomplish. It really is a magical dress, Charlie.”

“The execution is perfect,” Zachariah added. “You put just enough tulle on the bottom there. Too much or too little would have ruined the balance. And you accessorized it well with that belt. It keeps it from looking too much like a Disney ball gown.”

“The fabric isn’t that original,” Naomi noted, “but the thinking behind it is. Yellow’s often a hard color to work with. It can easily overwhelm the eye, but you used it well here.”

“This dress just makes me so happy,” Gwen ended with. “I think if I was depressed, I could just look at it and feel better.”

“Thank you, Charlie,” Heidi said. “Jo, tell us about your look.”

Jo gestured at her dress. “I thought I’d show off my model’s sexy figure. My mom came, and she owns this bar called the Roadhouse. She’s raised me alone since I was ten, and we’ve lived in an apartment above the Roadhouse all my life. I grew up in that bar, and so I thought it’d be neat to spell out ‘Roadhouse’ with the letters scattered all over the dress.”

“For a tube dress, it’s kind of drab. The manila and the black . . . you could have chosen more vibrant colors.”

“You had two days for this challenge, and all you made was a tube dress?” Zachariah grumbled. Jo flinched at his disappointed tone. “Compared to the complex designs of your competition, it seems scant. Almost as if you phoned it in.”

“No, I didn’t do that,” Jo argued “I had a pantsuit planned originally, but I had a hard time getting it together, and it was taking too long—”

“So you threw this together at the last minute?”

“No. It just . . . it wasn’t my original design.”

“We don’t care about your excuses, Jo. Better to send something imperfect but interesting down the runway than something finished but boring.”

“It looks a little too hoochie,” Naomi declared. “You don’t show so much leg and leave so much of the rest of the body exposed at the same time.” Huh. Dean didn’t agree with that; it wasn’t like Jo had the model’s boobs hanging out or anything. But Naomi designed relatively modest clothes, so she probably had more prudish tastes.

“It’s rather unimaginative,” Gwen concluded. “And there are even threads hanging from the hem.” Dean squinted at the bottom of Jo’s dress, and damn, Gwen was right. Jo was definitely in trouble. The judges usually liked Cole, so they wouldn’t get rid of him. It was probably a toss-up between her and Gordon.

Her and Gordon? And Cole was in the bottom, which meant that Dean—

“Dean, please tell us about your look,” Heidi continued.

\--was in the top again.

Consider his mind blown.

“Uh, yeah, okay,” Dean began eloquently. “I saw my brother, Sam. We were very close growing up . . . we’re still really close. Honestly, I’ve never been closer to anyone in my life. When we were kids, we went on a lotta road trips with my dad, and my mom, she gave us such a sense of comfort and love. So I just wanted to design something that would depict our familial bond, the red representing love, and the black, well, our memories of drives in the Impala. I mixed them a little, kind of like marble, since all these feelings are blended together in my memories.”

“Dean, I’m impressed. There’s nothing obvious about this fabric at all. And this outfit is so chic . . . I would wear it.”

“Thank you.”

“Yes, Dean, this is a beautiful piece,” Zachariah added. “Incorporating your fabric into the jacket so visibly is kind of overkill, though. We don’t need it in both the back and the front. The pockets themselves are enough.”

“You’ve certainly proved you’re not a one-hit wonder,” Naomi said. “And that sports jacket is so well-tailored. You took a men’s garment and fitted it for a woman. It hugs her body so well, emphasizing it without revealing too much.”

“I like this a lot,” Gwen ended with. “Everything is so well-made, too. The stitching is perfect.”

“Gordon,” Heidi said. “Please tell us about your look.”

“My friend Kubrick came over,” Gordon explained. “We’re passionate about our church, and we lead Bible study. So I thought I’d use Jesus to represent that.” Dean bit down hard on his lip once again to keep himself from chuckling. Gordon just sounded so ludicrous. “I didn’t want to destroy his face, of course, because that would have ruined the effect. Not to mention it would’ve been blasphemous. A maxi dress seemed like the best way to display his face.”

“Gordon, this is so literal,” Heidi replied. “And you made a maxi dress last week. It makes me wonder how much you’re actually capable of.” Gordon briefly looked irate, but he quickly schooled his features into neutrality.

“Much too literal,” Zachariah agreed. “And a maxi dress isn’t that challenging to make . . . you had _two days_ , Gordon. You could’ve figured out a way to do something more complex than this.”

“The dress sags too much on the bottom. It looked like the model struggled a little to walk,” Naomi pointed out. “I do appreciate the sentiment, though. So often people are afraid to show their faith these days. Bravo.”

“Thank you,” Gordon murmured.

“It is _so literal_ ,” Gwen concurred. “And the background color is so blah.”

Heidi moved on. “Castiel, why don’t you tell us about your look?”

“My visitor, Balthazar,” Castiel elaborated, “is my ex-boyfriend.”

“Your ex-boyfriend? I was told you were still dating.”

Castiel smiled sadly. “No. We broke up three months ago.”

“But you listed him as your boyfriend on your application.”

“Yes, I filled that out more than three months ago. We dated for almost eight years, and I thought I loved him . . . But I grew to realize that our relationship wasn’t healthy.” His bottom lip quivered. He looked like he wanted to cry, and Dean had the urge to hug him. “He didn’t treat me well. He controlled every aspect of my life . . . If I, if I did even one little thing without asking him first, he became furious. At first he just yelled, but then he started to . . . to hit me.” Tears drifted down Cas’s cheeks. “Balthazar is so charismatic and charming; no one would believe me when I tried to talk about him. Of course, it didn’t help that my friends were his friends . . . He did so much for me in the beginning. He was kind. His behavior changed so gradually . . . it was difficult for me to gather the courage to leave. I knew I couldn’t survive on my own because Balthazar reminded me of it often, but I had to get away from him. I have struggled since I left, but it was absolutely the best decision for myself.”

Dean glanced around at the other designers. Tears filled Jo’s eyes, and Charlie was sniffling. Cole gazed at Cas sympathetically while Gordon’s expression remained neutral.

Cas waved at his outfit. “So this design, and this fabric . . . they represent our relationship.” He pointed at one of the blue soma. “This is my core, and these—” He moved his finger to the red and yellow bolts. “—represent our relationship. All facets, good and bad. And these—” He gestured at the white offshoots. “—represent how he . . . hurt me.” Cas whispered the last two words then raised his voice again. “The veil and the detail on the hands—they represent how he shackled me, imprisoned me in myself. And I tried to convey that feeling of entrapment with the skirt as well.”

The judges’ mouths hung open. Gwen and Heidi wiped tears from their eyes.

“Wow. That is—that was so brave of you to share,” Heidi said. “Even before I knew the story behind it, this design spoke to me. And now . . . it’s powerful, haunting, even.”

“The thinking behind the design is so deep and intricate,” Zachariah opined. “I’m amazed by how much you were able to accomplish in two days. So flawlessly, too.”

“The silhouette is certainly unique,” Naomi put in. “It’s a striking look. It’s thoughtful while also being heartfelt.”

“Even before you explained it to me,” Gwen finished, “the emotion just radiated off of this outfit. Good job.”

“Thank you,” Cas sniffed, face red.

“Okay,” Heidi concluded. “We’ve heard what you have to say—”

“Can I mention something?” Gordon butted in. Dean turned to stare at him. What the fuck was he up to?

“What is it you wish to say?”

“Castiel cheated.”

Everyone gaped at him.

“How did he cheat?”

“Dean made his skirt.” Charlie glared at him.

Heidi shifted her attention to Dean. “Dean, is this true?”

“Yeah, I helped,” Dean acknowledged, “but I didn’t design it. It was all Castiel. I just helped him sew it because he was running out of time.” He shrugged. “Everyone else helps each other finish all the time.”

“That is all you did?”

“Yep.”

“We will review the workroom footage to verify the truth. Now, please wait in the designers’ lounge while we deliberate.”

They filed into the lounge, where Dean sat on a couch next to Cas and Charlie perched on Cas’s other side. Gordon took a chair to Dean’s left.

“What did the judges say?” Hannah asked from a couch opposite Dean’s.

Dean ignored her and scowled at Gordon. “Gordon, what the hell?” he snapped.

“What?” Gordon responded.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, asshole.”

“Who’re you callin’ an asshole?!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that,” Dean apologized.

“I thought we were friends—”

“We are.”

“But here you are betraying the Straight Brigade and helping this fairy—” he nodded at Cas. “—finish his design.”

“Watch your mouth,” Charlie hissed. Gordon rolled his eyes.

“Helping Cas has nothing to do with our friendship—”

“Oh, it’s Cas now, is it?”

“Yeah, so?”

“I thought we straight men were gonna stick together—”

“Dude, it’s not _Survivor_. We didn’t form a damn alliance.”

“But you violated the Straight Brigade. The basis of our friendship.”

“ _That’s_ the basis of our friendship? I thought it was mutual interests and—”

“Yeah, and our dislike of pretentious, melodramatic assholes like Castiel.” Dean winced, remembering when Balthazar had called Cas melodramatic yesterday morning.

“I am not melodramatic,” Cas objected.

“So you agree you’re pretentious?”

“I honestly do not know.”

Dean giggled at that. His initial impression had been that Cas was pretentious, but now he thought the dude was just clueless more than anything. It seemed he’d been naïve when Balthazar had met him, fresh from a sheltered existence. Then he’d spent a long time with an asshole who’d controlled his life. He’d wound up swapping one constricting environment for another.

Gordon sniffed disdainfully, and the room settled into an uneasy silence until they were called back to the runway.

“Charlie,” Heidi commenced. “Congratulations, you’re in. You may leave the runway.” Charlie skipped backstage, beaming.

Heidi turned to the remaining top scorers. “Dean, Castiel. One of you is the winner this week. Castiel.” She paused dramatically. “Congratulations! You’re the winner of this challenge!”

“Oh! Thank you!” Cas gasped.

“Your design will be featured on the cover of _Marie Claire_.”

Cas clutched his chest as if he could scarcely believe his luck. “Wow.”

Cas retreated backstage, and as soon as Dean was pronounced in, he followed. “Congrats, Cas!” he exclaimed. “That’s win number two.”

Cas clamped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “It is, isn’t it?”

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. “You deserve it.”

A small smile blossomed on Cas’s face. _It’s beautiful._

_What the hell? Shut up, Winchester._

Soon, Cole appeared; Gordon and Jo came backstage a minute later.

“I’m out,” Jo announced.

Charlie groaned and hugged her; then Linda, Hannah, and Cole also offered hugs.

When Tim arrived backstage, he also embraced Jo. “We’re gonna miss you. You are _so_ talented,” he told Jo as a few tears slipped from her eyes. “We’re gonna hear great things from you!”

“Thank you, Tim,” Jo replied.

xxxxxxxxxx

 _Jo: It sucks to go home so early, but I learned a lot. I made a lot of great friends, too. I can’t wait to get back together with everyone once the show’s over. And Tim [sniffles]—Tim says he believes in me. You don’t know how much that means. It makes me feel like I’ll be able to make my mark one day. I’m still young, y’know_.


	5. The Real-Woman Challenge

_Charlie: I hate that phrase, real-woman challenge. I mean, aren’t our models real women, too?_

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean lurched awake as a loud crack resounded throughout the room. He rolled over to glance at the clock on the nightstand between the beds and discovered it’d been knocked to the floor. Cas’s hand rested on the nightstand while he tossed in his sleep. “No,” he murmured. He whimpered then thrashed some more, the motion tumultuous.

Should he wake Cas up? “Psst, Cas,” Dean whispered. Cas continued his frantic movements. “Cas,” Dean tried again, more loudly this time. Still, Cas didn’t hear him. Dean hopped out of bed and hovered over Cas, indecisive. Maybe he should leave the guy alone? He decided to make one more attempt. “Cas!” Dean called.

Cas’s eyes flew open, and he stared up at Dean unblinkingly, cowering and holding up his arm as if to block a blow. “Balthazar, please,” he beseeched. “I’m sorry.”

“Cas, it’s me.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas repeated, voice shaking with tears.

“Cas, it’s me. Dean.” He extended a hand toward Cas’s shoulder, and Cas recoiled.

“Please don’t hit me,” he cried, shrinking.

“Dude, I ain’t gonna hurt ya. It’s me. It’s Dean.”

Cas blinked before stilling his movements. He gazed up at Dean, puzzled. He shook his head then relaxed even as he averted his gaze. “Oh, Dean. It’s you. I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

“No, it’s fine.”

Cas wiped at his eyes and sniffled. “I’m sorry. This is embarrassing.”

“Don’t worry about it. Mind if I sit down?”

“No.”

Dean perched on the edge of Castiel’s bed. “What were you dreamin’ about? Balthazar?” Cas nodded. “Wanna tell me about it?”

“I don’t know.” Cas was trembling so violently that Dean felt the bed vibrate beneath him.

“Hey, you’re shaking.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. Not to me.” Dean raised his hand again, and Castiel shrank from it. Dean didn’t want to frighten him, just comfort him or something. He decided to try resting a hand in Cas’s hair and see how he reacted. He smoothed it back from Cas’s brow, and Cas’s shivering abated somewhat.

“Your hands are gentle,” Castiel observed.

“I used to do this with Sammy when he was younger.”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah, when our parents fought, and it . . . y’know, when things got out of hand.”

Cas sighed, more of the tension leaving his body. Dean continued to stroke his hair. When he removed his hand a minute later, Cas’s body began quivering again. “Scoot over,” Dean demanded.

“What? Why?”

Dean nudged Cas to the other side of the small bed and crawled in with him, leaving one hand in his hair and placing another on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asked, confused.

“Does this help?”

Cas took a couple of minutes to answer. “Yes,” he admitted, sounding surprised.

“You wanna talk about it?” Cas’s eyes darted around the room. “I promise not to tell anyone. You know the cameras are off until 6:30."

“It was just . . . It was like it was happening all over again. Balthazar was so _angry_. Again. I stayed at school longer than I’d said I would, and . . . he didn’t like it. He had done so much for me, and I felt terrible about coming home late, about how much Balthazar must’ve worried.”

“But you had to get your work done, right?”

“Yes, I had a project due. Balthazar, he paid for me to go to fashion school. Paid for everything the entire time I was with him. Sometimes I feel guilty for leaving, like I might have used him. He gave me so much, and I left him.”

“That’s how they trap you, y’know.” Cas tilted his head to the side. “It’s a way of taking control of your life, doing all that.”

“So I have gathered. But I still feel like I did something wrong.”

“Don’t.” Dean’s hand migrated from Cas’s shoulder to his fingers, which he squeezed.

“I’ll try.” Silence settled in for a bit, and, just as Dean thought he might drift off, Castiel said, “Thank you, Dean.”

“You’re welcome.”

Cas’s eyes slid closed, and suddenly Dean realized why Cas had given him such a strange look when Dean had told him to move over. What Dean had just done, it wasn’t something normal platonic male friends did. Hell, he and Cas were just barely friends at this point, which meant Dean had escalated things rather quickly.

Whatever. He’d just have to return to his own bed before the cameras came back on in the morning.

xxxxxxxxxx

Someone was banging on the bedroom door. Dean opened his eyes, groaned, and ran a hand through his hair. What time was it?

“Dean!” Gordon shouted as he threw open the door. “You up yet? You’re gonna be late.” His eyes finally alit on Dean, who was still lying in Cas’s bed, the dude’s head resting against Dean’s chest. “Oh, my God!” he spluttered.

Dean jumped out of the bed. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“You fuckin’ liar—”

“Wait a minute, Gordon—”

Castiel snuffled briefly in his sleep before blinking awake. “Dean, what’s going on?” he muttered.

“You said you weren’t a fag,” Gordon complained.

“I’m not—” Dean began.

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Gordon. “Don’t use that word.”

Gordon rolled his eyes. “Whatever. We’re leaving in ten minutes. You assholes might want to get dressed.”

Gordon slammed the door behind him. Dean’s eyes migrated to the floor, where the alarm clock lay. Why hadn’t it gone off? He picked it up and found that it had somehow come unplugged.

Cas sat up and yawned. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean turned to him, puzzled. “What for?”

“I fear I may have ruined your friendship with Gordon.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it.”

“But you’re the only friend Gordon has here. He’ll be completely alone and—”

“Do you seriously care? You don’t even like the guy.”

“No, I don’t,” Cas acknowledged. “But that doesn’t mean I want his time here to be miserable.”

Wow. Castiel was way too nice for his own good. And Dean’s first impression had been that he was a jackass. Any rudeness on his part really must have been cluelessness.

“Well, I’m perfectly willing to stay buddies with him, but that ain’t up to me, Cas.”

Cas answered with a small nod as he hurriedly changed, seeming not to give any thought to the fact that Dean was _right fuckin’ there_. Turned out he’d been right; Cas’s stomach was quite toned, as were his arms, his chest, the thighs he briefly glimpsed when Cas’s boxers flopped as he tugged off his pants.

“What?” Cas said after he’d clad himself in a pair of jeans and a blue shirt that really brought out his eyes.—

 _Oh_. Dean suddenly realized he’d been staring and swallowed. “Um. Nothing,” he mumbled.

“Aren’t you going to get dressed?”

“Yeah, when you leave the room.”

Cas snorted. “It’s not as if I will ogle you like you did me.”

“Hey, I didn’t ogle you!” Dean retorted, even if he totally did.

“If you say so,” Cas replied as he stepped out of the room.

Shit. He’d been _checking Cas out_ , and he didn’t know why. He’d never liked another dude that way, and that certainly wouldn’t change now.

Maybe Gordon was right. Maybe Dean was—

 _No._ That didn’t make any sense.

After Dean had thrown on some jeans and a red plaid shirt, he ventured into the hallway, where he ran into Castiel as he was coming out of the bathroom. When they reached the front door, Cole and Gordon were waiting.

“Gordon told me you guys slept in the same bed last night,” Cole said. “Is that true?”

Cas blushed, and Dean shrugged. “Yeah, so?” Dean retorted.

“What—?”

Cas stalked past them and threw open the door. “We should go.” No one said anything else until they met the women, with whom they made small talk on the way to Parsons.

“Designers,” Heidi announced when they met her on the runway. “This week, we have the real-woman challenge.” A few of the other designers grimaced. “All of these women are attending a special work party, and they need you to make them look good. Don’t disappoint them.

“Your clients are waiting for you backstage. We want to see your aesthetic in these designs, but remember that you must satisfy your client as well. You will have one day to complete your looks.”

xxxxxxxxxx

_Gordon: This is bullshit! These women’s proportions are all wrong; you can’t design anything that’ll look good on them._

_Bela: I’m used to working with waifish models. They always provided us with thin models in fashion school. Their frames show off a garment to its best advantage . . . it keeps the focus on the fashion, not the body. But I know I will have to work with clients of all types throughout my career, and I look forward to pushing myself. [flashes a flawless smile]_

_Hannah: I’m excited about this challenge. It’s more like what I do with my Etsy shop. I know how to design clothes that flatter all body types, not just our models._

xxxxxxxxxx

In the workroom, Dean discovered his woman was a blonde chick named Donna with an adorable Minnesota accent.

“How long have you been living in New York?” Dean asked her.

“A year. Ever since I divorced Doug.” She grew somber.

“You miss him, huh?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” she admitted, sighing. “Even if he was a dick.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t worry about it. My life kicks ass now.”

“Awesome. So. What do you like to wear?”

“Anything that conceals all this junk I’ve got right here.” She patted her tummy. “I’ve tried so many fad diets, you know, and I still can’t get rid of it.”

“Hey, now. I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about it. You’re pretty cute.”

Donna giggled and pinched his cheek, ignoring his wince. “Aren’t _you_ the precious one? Bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Not really.”

She reddened and slapped him on the side a little too hard. “Quit your flirtin’!”

“Ow!” She chuckled. “Okay, seriously. What do you like to wear?”

“Well, as you can see—” She gestured at her faded jeans and plain light blue shirt. “—I usually don’t dress up much. I care more about being comfortable. Actually, what you’re wearin’ kinda looks like what I wear, too.”

Dean glanced down at his shirt. “This?”

She nodded. “But I wanna look pretty for this function. Surprise everyone, ya know?”

“Um. Yeah.” He grinned. “Donna, I think I’ve got the perfect idea for you. How ’bout I sketch it out, and you tell me what you think?”

“Go on.”

Dean withdrew a few colored pencils from his kit and sketched out a blue plaid short-sleeved shirt, adorning it with black lace on the shoulders and a black lace band around the bottom of the shirt. He finished the look with a black skirt. “How’s that?”

“Cute shirt! But skirts are so uncomfortable, ya know?”

Dean chortled. “Can’t say I do. I’ve never worn one.”

“Yeah, there’s a reason boys don’t like ’em.”

“They think they’re for girls?”

“That wasn’t always true, ya know.”

Dean gathered that “ya know” was a favorite phrase of hers.

“Okay.” Dean erased the skirt and drew a pair of—red?—no, he didn’t want her to look like a damn American flag—gray slacks with more of the black lace trim forming a stripe down each leg. “How’s that?”

“I love it! Can you add in some pockets?”

“No problem.” Dean sketched pockets onto the pants and held up his sketchpad. “There you go.”

“Perfect!”

After Dean took Donna’s measurements, his stomach growled, and he remembered he hadn’t eaten any breakfast this morning. “I think there’s some donuts in the breakroom, and I’m starving. Wanna come?”

“You betcha!”

Dean found a box of donuts on the table in the breakroom and grabbed a powdered one before passing the box to Donna. He took a huge bite from the donut while Donna chose a powdered one, too. She bit into it, and powder coated her top lip.

“You got a little somethin’ there,” Dean observed, pointing at his own lip.

She laughed. “So do you.”

They snatched up a few napkins and wiped their mouths.

Dean liked this Donna woman; she seemed like she’d be fun to hang out with.

Soon, Tim arrived to lead the women away; then the designers took a trip to Mood.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Castiel: Rachel is frustrating to work with. She rejected all the designs I proposed, and the things she likes . . . she does not have good taste. [sighs]_

_Gordon: I’m gonna have to buy so much fabric to cover up this woman._

_Cole: She likes my military aesthetic, so I think we’ll be in good shape._

xxxxxxxxxx

After he laid out his fabric on the worktable, Dean glanced over to see how Cas was faring. He was contemplating this godawful pink fabric dotted with daisies. “Sorry, Cas, but I gotta say,” Dean commented, “that fabric is hideous.”

“I know,” Cas sighed, shuffling closer with one hand still on his worktable. “But this is the sort of thing Rachel insists on.”

“You know it’s the judges that matter, right? Not her?”

“No, the judges will consider her opinion, too. If she hates it . . . they will reprimand me for not satisfying my client. What about you? How was your client?”

“Donna? She’s awesome!”

Cas’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “It did seem like you two were having fun.”

“Yeah.”

“I suppose we should start on our designs. Good luck.”

Dean smiled. “You, too.”

Dean ambled to the other side of the worktable to take a look at Gordon’s fabric. He had nothing but bolts of black. “You didn’t want to get any color?” Dean asked.

“She’s a big girl,” Gordon retorted. “Black is slimming.” He didn’t say it, but Gordon’s tone made it clear that he thought big equaled hideous. It kind of offended him. Hey, Donna wasn’t the world’s thinnest girl, but she was cute, and he planned to emphasize her assets, not hide her body. That seemed to be the point of the challenge.

“Oh,” Dean replied lamely.

“Why’re you talkin’ to me, anyway?” Gordon snapped. “It’s not like we’re friends anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Stop flirtin’ with Castiel then.”

“Dude, I’m not flirting—”

“Get out of the damn closet already!”  
“Asshole,” Dean muttered as he turned away. Dean was not in the fuckin’ closet. He didn’t have a crush on Cas.

Right?  
Yeah, he was attractive, but Dean didn’t like guys like that—

He eyed Cas, who was concentrating on his design, oblivious to everything around him. Earnest, alert blue eyes intensely studied his fabric.

He really was quite pretty. In a masculine way.

Dean clutched his head and willed it to shut up.

He worked for a few hours before his stomach started grumbling. He stopped for a quick lunch break and thought about asking Gordon to join him, but Gordon had made it clear he wanted to cut ties with Dean. Guess he was dining alone, then.

As he headed toward the breakroom, he heard footsteps catch up with him. Maybe Gordon had finally decided to stop being a jackass.

But the voice he heard wasn’t Gordon’s. “Are you going to eat lunch?” Cas inquired.

Dean startled at the words, surprised that Cas had followed him. “Um. Yeah.”

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Dean shrugged. “Hell, why not?”

They grabbed some sandwiches and water from the fridge and plopped down at a small table. “How is your work progressing, Dean?” Cas questioned.

“I think I’m makin’ good time.”

“I noticed that you’re using lace.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you hated lace.”

Dean remembered saying that during the team challenge and chuckled. “Uh, yeah, I usually hate how frou-frou it is. But I like using it in other contexts. On occasion.”

“Oh.”

Charlie, Hannah, and Bela drifted into the room and snagged lunch for themselves. They chose a table next to Cas and Dean’s. Charlie eyed the men warily, as if considering something.

“Did you want to sit with us or something?” Dean asked.

“If you don’t mind?” Charlie replied.

“Nah. Do you, Cas?”

“No,” Cas echoed.

Charlie scooted their table up against the men’s. As Bela opened her bottle of water, her lips formed one of her signature icy grins.

“So,” Bela began. “Gordon says you two boys slept in the same bed last night. Is that true?”

“Bela!” Charlie exclaimed. She turned to the men. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“Definitely not,” Hannah agreed.

Whatever. They’d already confirmed the truth to Cole, so they might as well let the women know, too. “Yeah. We did,” Dean answered.

“Why?” Bela pounced.

“Um.” Shit, what had he been thinking? He’d promised to keep Cas’s words a secret. How the hell was he supposed to answer that question?

“I,” Cas stammered, swallowing. “I had a nightmare. Dean, he . . . he made me feel better.”

Bela snorted. “Is that a euphemism?”

“ _No_ ,” Cas growled.

Bela threw up her hands. “Jeez, you don’t have to jump down my throat.” She cackled. “But seriously, you needed someone to help you deal with a nightmare? What are you, three?”

“Shut up, Bela,” Charlie snapped.

Bela tsked. “Touchy, touchy.” A PA entered the breakroom and retrieved Bela for her Skype call. “Guess I’ll see you people later,” she said in goodbye.

“Ugh,” Charlie muttered. “Sorry about her.”

“’S all right,” Dean dismissed.

Charlie licked her lips before tentatively positing, “Castiel, your nightmare. Did it have to do with . . . Balthazar?” Cas nodded, and Charlie’s eyes grew sad. “I’m sorry. I feel so terrible about not noticing anything earlier. He seemed like such a nice guy, and I liked him . . . I usually have good judgment. I wish I’d seen he was a jerk.”

“Balthazar is eminently charismatic,” Cas acknowledged. “I liked him . . . I loved him, even.” His eyes watered, and he rubbed at them.

“I’m sorry, too, Castiel,” Hannah added. “No one should have to go through that.”

“Thank you,” Cas said quietly. They finished their lunch in companionable silence.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Linda: So, apparently Dean and Gordon aren’t friends anymore? I don’t know. I try to stay out of the drama and focus on my work._

_Cole: I won’t lie; it’s weird that Dean and Castiel slept in the same bed last night. But it’s not my business, you know?_

_Charlie: Personally, I’m glad Gordon isn’t talking to Dean anymore. That might be a dick thing to say, but Gordon’s kind of a dick, so who cares? I liked Dean when I first met him, but that Straight Brigade shit pissed me off. Gordon’s homophobic, but I don’t think Dean is. He’s just misguided, and maybe he’ll realize it._

_Castiel: [sighs] I wish people would stop focusing on what Dean and I have been doing. There are more important things to think about, like the competition._

xxxxxxxxxxx

As soon as they got back to the apartment, Cas took a shower as Dean readied himself for bed. After the shower, Cas returned to the bedroom, still toweling off his hair. Dean felt the impulse to pluck at one of the damp strands curling around the nape of his neck and wrap it around his finger. Startled by the urge, he averted his eyes.

Cas sank onto his bed then neatly folded the towel, placing it on the floor by the foot of his bed. “I fear I may be in the bottom tomorrow,” he lamented.

Dean remembered Tim’s visit earlier today. He’d overheard Tim berating Cas for choosing such an ugly fabric. Cas had explained that he’d been trying to please his client, and Tim had replied that part of the challenge involved making sure you talked the client out of bad ideas. Cas’s air had remained one of despair for the remainder of the day.

“Maybe,” Dean conceded. “But don’t worry about it.”

“How can I not?”

“Dude, you’ve won _two challenges_. You’ll be fine.”

“It’s the perfect setup for a ‘shocking elimination.’ Every season has one, you know.”

Dean’s stomach dropped. He wasn’t ready for Cas to leave yet. He was finally just starting to like the guy. “Nah, it won’t be you. You’re probably one of the best designers here.”

Cas flushed at the praise. “But that is not the only reason I worry. The producers are displeased with me.”

“What? Why?”

“I ruined their narrative about me having a loving relationship with my boyfriend.”

“So? Your emotions on the runway, that has to make for more compelling television, right?”

“One would think so. But they told me they had planned for the episode to be a heartwarming one, and I messed up their plans.”

“Wait, isn’t Heidi a producer? She likes you.”

“Yes, I think so. But she’s not the only one, and if the others pile together their clout . . . threaten not to fund the program anymore, for example, they can overrule her.”

“Would they really care enough to actually do that?”

Cas sighed. “I don’t know.”

“I doubt it, Cas.”

“We will just have to see what happens, I suppose.”

“Yeah.” Dean yawned. “You ready for me to turn out the light?”

Cas laid down and pulled the covers up to his chin. “Yes.”

“Cool.” Dean hopped out of bed to flip off the light then crawled back under the covers. “G’night, Cas,” Dean called.

“Good night, Dean,” Cas said softly.

Dean slept well that night.

xxxxxxxxxx

On the morning of the runway show, Donna greeted Dean with a gigantic smile. “Hiya, Dean!”

“Hey, Donna. You ready for this?”

“You betcha!”

Dean gestured at the garments. “So, this’s the final product.”

“I love it!” Donna gasped.

Dean grinned at her. “Good. I’m glad. Um, so. First, we gotta take you to hair and makeup.”

Donna bumped him with her hip. “Gotta prettify me, eh?”

“Somethin’ like that,” Dean murmured.

“Can’t wait! Feel free to let them go crazy on me.”

“Okay.”

He directed the makeup artists as they dusted on a thick layer of blue eyeshadow and coated her lips a rosy pink. He left her hair down and contemplated using a hat on the accessory wall. At first, he chose a floppy straw hat, but it made Donna look like she was going to a picnic. He put it back and picked up a black pillbox hat with a veil and settled it atop her head. It was an odd selection, but Dean liked how it contrasted with the outfit. “Whaddaya think?” Dean asked as he led her to a mirror.

“Ooh, I like it!” Donna giggled. “Kinda makes me look mysterious.”

Tim called time, and they rushed to the runway. Dean zoned out while Heidi introduced the regular judges. He recognized the guest judge, a weaselly looking guy named Marv Scribner who for some damn reason had called his label Metatron. Seemed kind of like a douchebaggy moniker. Dean also thought his designs were hideous. Even so, he still had to impress the guy.

Charlie’s woman walked the runway first. As usual, she’d gone for bright colors in her offerings, a deep purple skirt with a layer of thin black mesh over it and a hot pink top. Black boots perfectly complemented the outfit.

Gordon’s design came next, and God, had he done the dullest thing imaginable. His woman wore a pair of wide-legged black pants and a long-sleeved black shirt open at the neck to hint at cleavage. It kinda looked like pajamas. A silver Celtic cross pendant on a necklace softened the effect, but not by much.

Cole’s woman modeled third. She sported a navy pencil skirt with stars lining the bottom; they resembled those on the American flag. A tan button-up blouse with gold epaulettes on the shoulders completed the outfit. The combination was surprisingly severe, and the woman looked like she was going off to a patriotic banquet.

Cas’s model followed, and Dean cringed. With his hideous fabric, he’d created a romper, which seemed like the worst choice imaginable. “Was it your idea to make a romper?” Dean whispered to him.

“She insisted on it,” Cas whispered back, his eyes worriedly following Rachel.

There was no way that mess wasn’t in the bottom. He knew it was unlikely that Cas would be out; he had been a favorite so far, but remembering the conversation last night, he grew nervous.

And now here came Hannah’s design for the week. Dean had to say, her woman looked amazing in that white peasant skirt and blouse horizontally striped in red and white. She’d chosen some great shoes, too, flat silver sandals.

Next, Bela’s woman strutted out in a beige knee-length dress with sleeves that covered half of each shoulder. The woman had on gold gladiator sandals. Damn if Dean didn’t hate those. Seriously, they looked so hard to put on. Not to mention like they belonged with a Roman costume.

Linda’s woman stepped onto the runway wearing a white button-up shirt and pleated green skirt. It kinda looked like a school uniform. Surely she had to be on the bottom.

Fuckin’ finally, Donna’s turn arrived. Dean’s outfit wasn’t as fancy as some of the others, but Donna sure rocked it. She beamed, clearly enjoying her time on the runway. When she reached the end, she flashed Dean a thumbs up before turning around. Heidi smiled at the gesture.

A minute later, the women joined them on the runway, and Heidi announced that Linda and Charlie were in. Seriously, Linda? Her offering had been so unimaginative. He wondered who was in the bottom, then. Cas and Gordon, probably, and who else? Maybe he was in the bottom since his design was more casual than everyone else’s?

Shit, he hoped not. He didn’t want Donna to hear the judges tear down his design when she clearly loved wearing it.

“Dean, let’s talk about your look first,” Heidi decided.

 _Me?!_ Dean ran a sweaty palm through his hair. “Um, this here’s Donna. She doesn’t like skirts, so I made her some pants. She likes to be comfortable, so I made this plaid shirt. The lace is there to elevate the look.”

“Donna, what do you think about your outfit?”

“I love it! It’s comfy, and I think I look pretty hot.”

“You do. Both the shirt and the pants accentuate your figure.” Donna beamed, and Dean inwardly sighed in relief. Somehow, he was in the top yet again.

“This reminds me of the challenge a couple weeks back,” Zachariah put in. Dean was confused by the word “weeks” until he remembered that, for viewers, the challenge would’ve occurred two weeks ago. “The combination of plaid and lace. It’s something that could easily go south, but again you did an impeccable job here. These clothes are marvelous.”

“I’m not as crazy about this look as Heidi and Zachariah,” Naomi added. “Even with the lace, I find the plaid here a little . . . trashy, to put it bluntly.” Donna pouted at the criticism. “But the pants are wonderful, and everything is well-made.”

“That shirt would sell well in certain niche markets,” Marv pointed out. “And I think every woman would love to own those pants.”

“Castiel,” Heidi continued. Cas startled at the mention of his name. “Please tell us about your look.”

“Rachel told me she likes flowers,” Cas explained. “And she likes to show off her legs but hates skirts. This romper seemed like it would be to her taste.”

“Rachel, what do you think of your look?”

“It’s fine,” Rachel replied unenthusiastically. “I wish it didn’t have sleeves.”

Heidi hesitated before giving her opinion. “I’m sorry to say this, but it’s butt ugly. That fabric looks like wallpaper.”

Zachariah seemed to still be formulating his thoughts, so Naomi jumped in. “That fabric is old lady-ish. And what’s with the styling, Castiel? She has too much blush, and those crocs . . . ” Crocs? Dean hadn’t noticed those, but he noted the black shoes now. Why had those even been on the accessory wall? Maybe they were meant to trip up people who had bad taste.

“Castiel, this is so different from all your other designs,” Zachariah finally declared. “Tell me, honestly. Do you like this look?”

“Um . . . ” Cas hedged.

“Come on, it’s a simple question.”

“No,” Cas admitted.

“No? Then why didn’t you design something else?”

“I wanted to please the client.” Rachel cringed at the criticism of her taste, and Castiel gave her a sympathetic look.

“Obviously, pleasing the client is important. But if the client has questionable taste, it is your job to convince her to change her mind. If you want any recognition in this business, you have to stand up for yourself.”

“Yes, Castiel,” Marv agreed. “The fashion industry is full of self-aggrandizing assholes—” _Like you?_ “—and unless you assert yourself, you’ll get trampled on by everybody. Clients, other designers, even interns.”

“I did not wish to be rude,” Castiel protested.

Marv snorted. “Then you’re in the wrong damn business.”

“Hannah,” Heidi moved on. “Please tell us about your look.”

“I wanted something that would go with the bohemian style she exuded when we first met. She loves peasant skirts, so I thought I’d make a variation of one, and then the red looks really great on her.”

“What do you think about the design?” Heidi asked the woman.

“It fits in with everything in my closet! But she added so many distinctive touches to the skirt that it’s unique. . . it’s special.”

“The outfit really does look wonderful on you.”

“That shirt borders on being something you could find in any department store,” Zachariah opined. “But you added little flourishes to the skirt that make it original, like the lacy holes in the pleats that you get a peak at when she walks.” Oh. Dean hadn’t noticed those. “Nice job.”

“It had a different silhouette than the other designs,” Naomi contributed. “It’s a versatile look. You can dress it up for a function, but you can also dress it down to go out to lunch with friends.”

“You’ve elevated a common design and made it one of a kind,” Marv concluded.

“Gordon,” Heidi called. “Please tell us about your look.”

“I wanted to do something that would work well with her figure, and she likes black. This seemed to suit her.”

“What do you think of it?” Heidi asked the woman.

“It covers me up too much,” the woman replied. “I don’t like the long sleeves. I don’t like the whole thing.” Everyone’s eyes widened at the woman’s candor.

“I don’t like it much, either,” Heidi agreed. “It’s unimaginative, and all this black covering almost inch of her body . . . it’s depressing.”

“This is quite drab,” Zachariah concurred. “And certainly not fashion forward. More like fashion backward.” The other judges giggled at his quip.

“It’s such a matronly design. And why are there threads hanging off her sleeves? That’s just sloppy,” Naomi commented.

“I don’t think any woman would ever want to wear something this unflattering, even a matronly type,” Marv declared.

“Bela. Why don’t you tell us about your look?” Heidi said.

“Sometimes, simplicity is best,” Bela answered. “I thought this shade of brown really brought out her eyes and accentuated her hair. She has amazing arms, and I thought we should show them off.”

“What do you think?” Heidi asked the brunette woman wearing Bela’s dress.

“I love it!” the woman enthused. “It may sound weird, but I think my arms are my best feature. I couldn’t be happier . . . this is like my dream dress.”

“You _should_ show off those fantastic arms,” Heidi declared. “This is another impeccable design, Bela. I would be honored to wear it.”

“Thank you!” Bela exclaimed with false modesty. Barf.

So Bela was in the top again. Her woman loved the dress, so she seemed poised to win the challenge. That would mean Cole had to be in the bottom. Strange. It was better than what Linda had offered up on the runway. Maybe his woman looked like she’d been wrapped in an American flag, but it was actually pretty creative.

“You’ve styled her nicely,” Zachariah put in. “I love the gentle waves in her hair, and those sandals really bring out the virtues of the dress.”

“It’s wonderful,” Naomi agreed. “And so well-made. I’m astounded that you could create a garment with such flawless sleeves in only one day.”

“I could see this working perfectly in my line,” Marv ended with. Dean suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Of course Marv would bring up his own brand. He was well-known for his excessive self-promotion. “I think it’d be a top seller.”

“Cole, please tell us about your look,” Heidi continued.

Dean thought he spotted a bead of sweat trickling down Cole’s cheek. Had he imagined it? Cole couldn’t be that nervous, even if he was in the bottom.

“We both love the military aesthetic, so I stayed true to it in this design.”

“What do you think?” Heidi asked his woman.

“I’ve always wanted to have an excuse to wear epaulettes,” she replied. “I adore it.”

“It’s a little too much,” Heidi commented. “She’s not going to a patriotic party. And the epaulettes . . . I’m sorry to say, but they’re just kind of bizarre.”

“Yes, they are,” Zachariah chimed in. “And they make her shoulders stand out way too much. This would’ve been improved by removing those stars on the skirt as well.”

“I’m starting to question whether this is all you can do,” Naomi voiced. “The military aesthetic is such a narrow field . . . you need to broaden your appeal. You can’t rely on this shtick forever.”

Uh oh. Naomi had just sounded the death knell. Cole probably wouldn’t be out today, but when a judge dubbed a designer a one-trick pony . . . well, that usually indicated that the designer wouldn’t make it to the final episode.

“It’s good for a Fourth of July event but nothing else,” Marv concluded.

“Okay,” Heidi said. “We’ve heard what you have to say. Please wait in the designers’ lounge while we deliberate. When you return, one of you will be the winner and earn immunity for next week, and one of you will be out.”

Dean and Cas collapsed on a couch next to Charlie. Dean eyed Gordon from across the room. Now, he was chatting with Linda about what’d happened during judging. Like everyone else, he viewed her as a motherly figure apart from any drama.

“I think I’m going to be out,” Cas sighed.

“No way!” Charlie objected. “You’ve won two challenges.”

“That’s what I said,” Dean added.

“Obviously, you sent a godawful outfit down the runway—sorry, but it’s true—but you can’t be out with a record like that.”

“I didn’t like it, either,” Cas responded. “But I didn’t want to make Rachel something she didn’t like. And now . . . now I’m going to be out based on something I can’t stand behind.”

Dean swatted him on the thigh, and Cas looked askance at him. “Dude, don’t talk like that. No way in hell are you gone today.” Gordon would probably be out. He’d never been in the top, unlike Cole and Cas. Plus, his outfit had been really hideous.

“They gave me the ‘you need to stand up for yourself speech.’”

“Yeah, so?” Dean replied. Charlie gaped at Cas. What was he missing?

“It is often a precursor to being eliminated.”

Dean didn’t know what to say to that. All he could think about was how unready he was for Cas to leave. He’d grown fond of the nerd, for some reason. How had that happened so quickly?

After a while, they were called back to the runway. “As you know,” Heidi commenced, “one of you will be the winner, and one of you will be out.” Her eyes darted to Dean. “Dean. Congratulations, you’re in. You may leave the runway.”

Third place wasn’t that bad. He shuffled into the lounge, where he eagerly awaited the winner. He hoped it wouldn’t be Bela. Then she’d have two challenges under her belt, like Cas. Not to mention she’d probably lord it over everybody.

Bela and Hannah entered the lounge a minute later, Bela frowning and Hannah grinning.

“Who won?” Linda asked.

“Hannah,” Bela replied sullenly.

Charlie hopped off of the couch and enveloped Hannah in a tight hug. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Hannah responded, her voice muffled against Charlie’s shoulder.

Cole stepped into the lounge after that. Which meant Gordon and Cas were the bottom two.

 _Please don’t let it be Cas_.

Wait, _what?!_ Despite their disagreements _,_ Gordon was his friend.

A minute later, Gordon and Cas finally came into the lounge. Gordon looked smug while Cas appeared downcast.

“I’m in!” Gordon enthused. Everyone gawked at him and Cas, stunned. Cas had seemed to be a favorite.

Hannah and Charlie teared up, and Bela rolled her eyes at them.

Charlie rushed to Cas and threw her arms around him. “I’m gonna miss you!” she sniffed.

Tim arrived to fulfill his usual role, telling the eliminated designer to pack up their workspace. He opened his mouth then paused.

“Designers, please gather round,” he requested. Curious, everyone congregated around him. “Castiel, you had a lapse in judgment this week, but I do not think it’s your time to go. So . . . I have decided to use my save.”

“Thank God,” Charlie exhaled.

Gordon and Bela didn’t appear pleased, but everyone else expressed how excited they were for Cas to stay. Cas seemed surprised by the adulation.

He smiled—a small thing, but definitely a smile, his eyes sparkling. “Thank you, Tim. I am honored. And everyone . . . for welcoming me back.” He wiped a tear from beneath his eye.

“Back?” Charlie balked. “You didn’t leave.”

“I believe in you, Castiel,” Tim asserted. “You deserve to be here, and I look forward to seeing many more designs from you.”

So did Dean.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Castiel: I cannot say that I did not see my elimination coming. I knew I’d erred, and this week, almost everyone else created something exquisite._

_Of course, I did not want to leave. I have so much more I want to do here._

_I am flattered that Tim would use his save on me. Knowing that he believes in me enough to do that . . . it’s inspiring._

_Honestly, I didn’t think the other designers liked me that much. They proved me wrong, and that’s—that’s wonderful. [His face relaxes.]_


	6. Truly Unconventional

“That was stressful,” Cas declared as he crawled into bed.

Dean chuckled, and Cas glared at him. “Bit of an understatement, don’t ya think?” Dean explained.

“I suppose,” Cas conceded, lips curling slowly into a grin.

“Glad you’re still here, man. Seriously.”

“Thank you.” Cas settled under the covers. “By the way. I don’t imagine it matters much . . . but I think.” He swallowed. “I think that you should have won the challenge. Your design was more complex. And it . . . frankly, I find it impressive that you finished it on time.”

“Me, too,” Dean muttered. After all, he’d had issues with time management during the first two challenges. “And thanks.”

“You are welcome.”

Cas was wrong. A warmth blossomed in Dean’s chest.

For some damn reason, Cas’s opinion meant a big deal.

xxxxxxxxxxx

As they rode to Parsons, Dean mulled over last night’s judging panel. Tim had saved Cas. The Tim Gunn save had existed for only the past two seasons, and both times, the saved designer had made it to the finals. Both times, the saved designer had not won.

Did that mean Cas would reach the finals? Seemed likely.

But would he win?

Not if past patterns held, but neither of the other saved designers had been nearly as talented as Cas.

On the runway, Tim brandished the button bag, and Heidi carried a big cube—was that supposed to be dice?

Shit. Not another team challenge.

Wait, how had they known there’d be enough people for a team challenge? If a designer had been eliminated during the last challenge, then there wouldn’t have been an even number of designers left.

Maybe they’d thought a double elimination would have taken place at some point.

Still, Dean smelled shenanigans. The producers had messed with Castiel just to create another dramatic episode.

It made sense for them to pick Cas, he conceded. So far, Cas had shown the most emotion on the runway. They’d known they could count on a reaction from him.

“Designers,” Heidi announced, “this week, we have another team challenge. We’ll let the button bag decide who works together. You and your partner will create two designs inspired by a movie genre. This—” She held up the dice. “—will determine your genre. You will have two days for this challenge.”

Heidi smiled slyly. “And one more thing. This is an unconventional materials challenge. You will work with items from a home improvement store.”

Shit. A team challenge combined with an unconventional challenge? Sounded like a recipe for disaster.

Dean hoped Gordon would be his partner. Maybe if they worked together, they could patch things up between them.

“Hannah, since you won last week’s challenge,” Heidi continued, “you may choose your partner first.” Hannah reached into the bag and pulled out the name of her partner. Cole. They looked happy to be working together. “Who wants to roll the dice?” Heidi asked.

“Hannah, will you do the honors?” Cole proposed.

“Okay.” She accepted the dice from Heidi and tossed it. It landed on “superheroes.”

“Awesome!” Cole enthused.

“Cole, you may choose the next name from the bag,” Heidi resumed. He drew Dean. Nerves sparking through his body, Dean placed his hand in the bag and got Charlie. He grinned at the result. If he couldn’t have Gordon . . . well, Charlie could be fun.

“Who’s going to roll the dice?” Heidi inquired.

Charlie practically bounced with anticipation at the prospect, so Dean let her have a go. They received Westerns.

“Score!” Charlie exclaimed, high-fiving Dean, who’d only realized what she was doing just in time to complete the motion.

After that, Bela and Linda were designated as partners who would work on a look inspired by horror films.

Which meant Gordon and Cas would work together.

Fuck. Gordon was gonna kill Cas.

Then again, maybe it would be good. Maybe they’d learn how to get along, as had happened with Dean when he’d worked with Cas.

Gordon snatched the dice from Heidi’s hands and rolled. Turned out they’d be working on science fiction movies.

At least they’d gotten a cool genre.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Linda: I think Bela will be a great partner. She’s one of the strongest designers here._

_Bela: I hate to say it, but I think Linda is one of the weakest designers left. I hope she won’t screw up the challenge for us._

_Gordon: Castiel shouldn’t even be here, and now we have to work together? The judges made a decision. They believe in me more than they believe in him. He better not try to walk all over me like he did with Dean. I’m not a pushover._

_Charlie: I’m worried about Castiel. Gordon has made no bones about how much he despises him._

xxxxxxxxxx

“So,” Dean addressed Charlie as they strolled into the home improvement store. “Should we shop together or split up?”

“Split up?” Charlie suggested. “We can just grab whatever and decide what to use once we get back to the workroom.”

“Sounds good.”

Dean snatched up anything that looked cool. Ropes, toolkits, cables, chains. When Tim called time (inevitably, too soon), Dean met Charlie in the checkout line, and they eyed each other’s items. Charlie had picked up completely different things, which was good. That meant they’d have a wide variety to choose from.

In front of them, Cas and Gordon piled their supplies on top of the counter. After the cashier rang up the materials, they discovered they were short on money.

“What should we put back?” Cas asked Gordon.

Gordon waved a dismissive hand. “Get rid of some of your junk.”

“I think we should give up an equal amount of items—”

“No, your stuff is stupid. Like this.” He held up a few loose tiles. “We’re not using that.”

“I think they would actually work quite well for something inspired by science fiction—” Dean agreed.

“No, it’s useless! How’re we even gonna manipulate it?”

“I have some ideas—”

Gordon leaned in, stance clearly threatening. “All worthless. Put it back.”

“Fine,” Cas huffed, to Dean’s surprise. After all, Cas had fought tooth and nail with Dean. Why would he bow to Gordon?

Cas directed the cashier to put aside several items; then they paid. Dean watched as they carried off their bags, Gordon triumphant and Cas uncertain.

Back in the workroom, Dean and Charlie dumped their supplies on the tables they’d pushed together.

“So I was thinking,” Charlie proposed, “we could do something, like, steampunk Western?”

“Steampunk Western,” Dean mused to himself. “Sounds badass,” he said more loudly. All the shiny metal stuff seemed ripe for steampunk.

Charlie hefted the ropes and chains, laughing. Dean raised an eyebrow at her. “We could totally use these . . . it’d be so kinky!” She dissolved into another fit of giggles.

“All right, all right, get your mind out of the gutter,” Dean admonished, smiling.

Charlie playfully swatted him on the shoulder. “Like you weren’t there before me.”

Actually, those connotations hadn’t occurred to him yet. Surprisingly. He shoved her good-naturedly. “Don’t drag me down with you, woman.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Whatever. So, seriously? What should we make?”

“Hmm. Not anything too intricate. Working on small details wouldn’t be a good use of our time.”

“Agreed. Okay. So why don’t we each sketch something, and then we can compare? Make sure our ideas are coherent and all that.”

“Okay.” He could probably think of a manageable torso, but what about the bottom? What could cover Cassie adequately, look stylish, and move smoothly?

He had three colors of rope—white, brown, and black. Maybe he could weave them together into a skirt?

Yeah, he liked that idea. Okay, that would take a while, so he should make the top simple. He’d have to incorporate the steampunk element there.

He contemplated using two trash can lids, one for the back and one for the front, but that would just be a poor man’s sandwich board, so no.

How about using some of Charlie’s chain link? Paste on a few of those cogs and—

“Okay,” Charlie said a moment later. “Are you finished?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

They exchanged sketches. Charlie’s was ingenious. She had decided to use some of the larger cogs for the torso and weave green and blue cables to cover the bust. For the skirt, she’d elected to utilize chain link.

Good thing she’d bought plenty of it.

Charlie squealed, and Dean glanced at her, startled.

“It’s amazing!” she exclaimed as she studied Dean’s sketch.

“Nah, I think yours is pretty awesome,” Dean replied.

“And the chain link and cogs make them cohesive.”

“Definitely.”

He slid Charlie’s sketch toward her, and she handed him his. Dean began laying out several lengths of rope.

The relative tranquility was disrupted by Gordon. “Make what you want!” he thundered at Castiel. Charlie jumped at his voice. “I’m not changing my damn plans.”

“Gordon,” Castiel responded. Fuck, how did he sound calm? That wasn’t how he’d spoken to Dean during their team challenge. “Our looks need to be cohesive—”

“Then get with the program.”

Cas sighed, finally showing a sign of frustration. “I do not believe you have enough material—”

“’Course I do, smartass.”

Charlie chewed her lip nervously. When a PA arrived to escort Dean to the Skype call chamber, he didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam greeted him after Dean settled in front of the computer. “How’s it goin’?” Dean sighed tiredly. “That bad, huh?”

“Kinda,” Dean acknowledged.

“I told you the competition would be intense.”

“It’s not the competition that’s botherin’ me. I mean, yeah, it’s stressful. But what’s worse is all the fuckin’ drama. It’s draining.”

“Are you allowed to tell me about it?”

“You’re sworn to secrecy for these calls, right?”

“Yep.”

“Then yeah, as long as I don’t mention any major spoilers. Gordon and I had a falling out.”

“What? Why?”

Dean was _not_ about to confess the sleeping-in-a-bed-with-Cas incident. Sure, it’d probably be referred to when the show aired, but Sam didn’t need to know about it yet. He’d prepare him before the time came.

So Dean hedged a bit. “Um. He doesn’t like that Cas and I have started developing . . . um, a friendship.”

“Cas? Do you mean Castiel?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you didn’t like him.”

“I didn’t at first.”

“What made you change your mind?”

Dean ground his teeth at the question. “That’s not important, all right? It’s just, now Gordon’s being a douche, and we’ve got another damn team challenge, and Gordon’s partnered with Cas and being an asshole to him, and . . . that about covers it.”

“Maybe they can work out their differences?”

Dean shrugged. “I hope so, but don’t hold your breath.”

Dean changed the subject to more mundane matters, hoping that might help him relax. They chatted about what Sam and Jess had been up to until their time was up.

Back in the workroom, Cas and Gordon were bickering again. (Or maybe they’d been bickering the whole time?) “I do not believe that using the tarp is a good idea,” Cas argued. “It’s too much like fabric.”

“Don’t butt into my business,” Gordon snapped.

Cas closed his eyes for a second, gathering his patience before he replied. “It’s my business, too. We’re supposed to be working together.”

“Then stop working on whatever that is—” He waved a dismissive hand at Cas’s project so far. “—and follow my lead.”

Cas scowled at Gordon, and Gordon glared back. After a minute, Cas broke the staring contest and stalked off into the breakroom.

“Jeez,” Charlie murmured.

“I know, right?” Dean muttered back.

Dean studied what Cas had started on. It looked good, a piece of sheet metal that reminded him of armor.

When a PA retrieved Charlie for her daily Skype call, Dean decided to go find Cas in the breakroom.

Cas was sipping a bottle of water and tapping his fingers nervously on the table. Dean sat down next to him. “Everything all right?” he inquired.

“No,” Cas gritted out.

“Dude, why’d you back down?”

Cas frowned. “I did not back down.”

“Sure you did. You ran in here instead of continuing your talk with Gordon.”

Cas snorted. “I would hardly call it a talk.”

“No, guess not. But. You didn’t take any shit from me when we were partners. When it was me, you pushed back until I gave in.”

“You are more . . . reasonable.” Dean nodded, remembering the conversation he’d overheard between Cas and Gabriel during the third challenge. “And Gordon . . . ” He flushed and waited a minute before he quietly admitted, “He frightens me.”

“He frightens you?!” Dean repeated incredulously.

“I’m afraid he might attack me.”

“Hey, Ishoved you, and you still stood up to me. Gordon’s never laid a hand on you.”

“That is true,” Cas acknowledged.

“Then what’s the problem?”

Cas’s wide blue eyes met his. Dean tried to suppress the burgeoning flutter in his chest. “He’s so _hateful_ , Dean. Whatever you said or did . . . you were never hateful.”

Dean didn’t know how to respond to that, so he changed the conversation’s direction. “So what’re you gonna do?”

Cas shrugged. “I suppose we will each make one outfit.”

“If the looks aren’t cohesive, y’all might be in the bottom.”

“Yes, but I see no alternative. I do not wish to fight a losing battle with Gordon.”

“Hey, if you’re in the bottom, you should throw Gordon under the bus.”

Cas crooked an eyebrow. “Throw him under the bus?”

Cas had to know what that meant, right? People had used that expression in past seasons of the show. “Y’know. Let the judges know what’s up. Tell them how Gordon refused to cooperate.”

“No, I will not ‘throw him under the bus.’”

“Why not?”

“I do not want to stoop to his level.”

Dean snorted. “All right, Pollyanna.”

“Pollyanna?”

“Yeah, y’know. A goody two-shoes.”

“Goody two-shoes?”

Jeez, it was like the dude came from another planet. “Someone who’s always giving the best spin to everything. Like in the movie.”

“What movie?”

“ _Pollyanna_.”

“Oh. I have not seen that film.” Cas glanced away shyly. “I have only ever watched movies Balthazar wanted to see.”

“What, not even as a kid?”

Cas reddened. “No. My family, they did not believe in . . . we did not own a television.”

Dean gawked at him. What kind of crazy people never watched TV? “Bummer.”

Cas leapt to his feet. “We should return to work.” He tossed his empty bottle in the recycling bin and hurried out of the room.

Why’d he run off so fast?

Maybe he didn’t want Dean to start asking about his family life? Because yeah, it sounded odd. Wouldn’t everyone want to have a TV, even if it was just to keep up with the news?

No doubt his upbringing had been bleak. That was why Balthazar had been able to take advantage of him.

Dean was curious about Cas’s past, but he wouldn’t have pried. He respected Cas’s right to keep that shit to himself.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Bela: Oh, my God, could Linda be any more slow and indecisive?_

_Linda: Working with Bela has been great so far. She’s been patient with my thought process._

_Cole: I love working with Hannah. She stays away from the drama._

_Hannah: Cole’s lost a little of his confidence since he’s been in the bottom for the last two challenges. But he really is an amazing designer, and I think we’re onto something good._

xxxxxxxxxx

“Hello, designers,” Tim called as he entered the workroom.

Charlie elbowed Dean and hissed, “Tim’s here!”

“Yeah, I hadn’t noticed,” Dean replied sarcastically.

She put down the cables she’d been weaving together and turned to Dean, panic-stricken. “What if he hates our stuff?”

“Why do you think he’ll hate it?”

“I don’t know. But . . . what if?”

Dean snorted. “Do you always get like this when Tim comes into the workroom?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Just breathe.”

“What—”

“No use getting worked up. You don’t want to give yourself a mental block.”

“But how can I stop it?”

“Try a deep breath.”

Charlie closed her eyes before inhaling and exhaling slowly. “Wow. I do feel better. A little.”

“Told ya.”

Tim appeared at their table, startling Charlie. Tim didn’t seem to notice, however, or if he had, he hid it well. “Dean, Charlie. What is this you’re working on?”

“We got Westerns,” Dean answered.

“And we thought we might go a little steampunk with it,” Charlie elaborated. She slid her sketch toward Tim. “There’s my look.”

Dean showed Tim his sketch. “And that’s mine.”

“Did you work together on these looks?”

“No.”

“Wow. They’re remarkably cohesive.”

“Thank you,” Charlie squeaked. She gestured toward the top she’d been working on, the cogs pasted onto a clear plastic sheet and the cables she’d been weaving together. “This is what I’ve done so far.”

“How about you, Dean?” Tim inquired.

Dean held up the ropes he’d been braiding together. “I’m working on the skirt. I think it’ll take the longest, so I thought I’d do it first.”

“Very strategic. May I ask a question?”

“Please,” Charlie responded.

“How do these designs channel the Western?”

Wow. Good point. “Um. The color scheme of my skirt does, I think,” Dean replied.

“I see. You might want to work on incorporating your genre more clearly into the designs. Don’t veer into costume territory, of course. But how the genre fits needs to be apparent.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “Thank you, Tim.”

Tim headed toward Gordon and Castiel next. Dean eavesdropped on their critique as he continued weaving the rope.

“These looks do not look anything like they belong together,” Tim told them. “And Gordon, the judges will not like that tarp.”

“But I’m going to distress the edges,” Gordon protested. “Make it look like a dress from a post-apocalyptic world.”

“But Castiel’s design does not appear to belong in a post-apocalyptic world. His girl looks like a space warrior . . . Now, Gordon. I suggest you confer more with Castiel and utilize more unconventional materials . . . Castiel, I would say you should just keep on with what you’re doing.”

“Thank you, Tim,” Cas said.

“So,” Charlie addressed Dean, “how are we going to bring in more of the Western theme?”

Dean glanced at the accessory wall and smiled at what he saw. “Cowboy hats?”

“Too stereotypical.”

“Hey, I like cowboy hats.”

“Fine. You use a cowboy hat. I’ll get some cowboy boots from the accessory wall, and.” She held up a few of her cogs. “Use these as spurs.”

“Charlie, you’re a genius!”

She grinned. “I know.”

xxxxxxxxxxxx

_Gordon: Tim was right. I do need to include more unconventional materials. I think I’m going to scrap my design and try for space-age swimwear or something. [leers] Damn if Lisa won’t be hot in it._

_Castiel: Gordon had proposed using rope earlier, but I informed him that he did not have enough to create the dress he’d planned. Now he insists on using the rope to make a bikini. I do not like the idea, but he ignores everything I say._

_Bela: I told Linda she was being too literal. She wanted to make a mesh vampire cape since we got horror films. Tim said the exact same thing. And she. Still. Wants. To. Make. A. Cape. Ugh!_

_Hannah [beaming]: Tim says Cole and I are in excellent shape! He didn’t have anything negative to say at all._

xxxxxxxxxxx

Dean and Charlie worked assiduously all through the second day. He finished a few minutes before the models were due to come in, so he decided to check in on Cas. Gordon gave him the stink eye when he approached, but Dean ignored him. Cas was touching up his design. Damn, it was badass. He’d used sheet metal to create a sleeveless top and something Dean didn’t recognize to make copper pants. Currently, Cas was spray painting crisscrossed diagonal lightning bolts over the front of the torso.

“Dude, what’d you make those pants out of?” Dean asked.

“Something called high-temperature tape,” Cas answered without turning around.

“It’s awesome.”

Cas completed his task and placed the spray paint on the worktable before facing Dean. “Thank you.”

Dean glanced over at Gordon’s design, a dark green bikini made entirely from rope and with silver washers placed over where the nipples would go. Now that was just tasteless. It reminded Dean of those “boob bubbles” Krissy Chambers had referred to on the design that had gotten Gabriel eliminated. Funny how Gabriel and Gordon had been partners. Completely opposite people and yet . . . they could both be tacky.

Their models arrived, and Dean accompanied Cassie to hair and makeup. When he returned, he noticed that Cas was staring at his design, horrified.

“Hey, what’s wrong—?” Dean began, but when he went to stand by Cas, he immediately grasped the problem.

Someone had keyed a gash down the center of Cas’s top.

“What . . . ?” Dean uttered.

“I don’t know,” Cas replied. “I didn’t do it.”

“’Course not.”

Cas bit down on his bottom lip as if to suppress tears. “I don’t know what happened.”

Dean had a hunch. “Maybe it was Gordon.”

Cas turned to Dean. “Do you think he would do that?”

“Why not?” Dean responded, attempting to reign in his anger. “He’s clearly been gunning for you.”

“But we’re on the same team.”

“Guess it doesn’t matter to him.” Dean placed a gentle hand on Cas’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, man.”

Tim shouted that it was time for the designers to leave the workroom.

“Good luck,” Dean murmured to Cas as they headed toward the runway.

Today’s guest judge was fashion designer Benny Lafitte, who had a pronounced Cajun accent. The dude was one of Dean’s favorite designers, and he stared, awed by Lafitte’s presence. After Heidi introduced him, the runway show started, and Dean crossed his fingers for Cas.

Dean and Charlie’s designs walked the runway first. Damn, but they kicked ass. Everything had turned out perfect, and the girls were real troupers for bearing up under all those chain links. Dean loved how he’d styled Cassie, the cowboy hat at a jaunty angle, the taupe lipstick that hinted at a Western flair.

Next came Linda and Bela’s offerings. The first model wore a skirt made of duct tape and a top created from teal plastic tub lids. He knew their genre was horror, but the black mesh cape and blood make-up around the model’s mouth seemed too literal.

The other design consisted of a sleeveless, knee-length black dress made of sandpaper; black lipstick and eyeshadow emphasized the color. It was better than the first outfit, but it still seemed like a literal interpretation of the genre.

Gordon and Cas’s models strolled down the runway after them. Gordon’s design was made entirely out of rope, a barely-there bikini with fringes hanging down from both the arm and leg openings. Poor Lisa. Dean respected her for working the shit out of it.

Dean held his breath as Anna followed Lisa onto the runway. The copper pants were killer, and the top would’ve been awesome, too, if it didn’t have a huge scratch running down the middle. If the unmarred version hadn’t been paired with Gordon’s monstrosity, it might even have been a winner.

Finally, Hannah and Cole’s models took the stage. The first woman sported a crop top constructed entirely from white tiles, a brilliant blue “S” emblazoned on the back. What was that black skirt made of? It appeared to be paint tray liners. Pretty cool, though the “S” was a literal homage to the superhero genre.

The other design kinda reminded Dean of an accordion, a beige dress created from Venetian blinds. Somehow, the designer had cut out a huge “A” over the model’s chest. That must’ve taken effort.

“Designers,” Heidi addressed them after they lined up on the runway. “Two of the teams have the top scores, and two have the bottom scores. We’ll talk to the top scorers first.” She turned to Charlie and Dean. “Dean and Charlie, please tell us about your looks and the genre that inspired them.” Charlie gaped at the news that they were in the top.

“Well,” Dean replied, “we got Westerns, and we decided to go for something steampunk.”

“And who did what?”

Dean gestured at Cassie. “This one’s mine.”

Charlie indicated her own model. “I did this one.”

“Wow. These two looks are incredibly cohesive. I loved them both.”

“I liked them as well,” Zachariah put in. “My only issue is with how Cassie was styled. That cowboy hat is a little too kitschy for my taste.”

“I wanted to tie my design in with the Western theme,” Dean explained.

“I get that, but the skirt actually gives me the Western vibe by itself. How did you make that?”

“I wove together several layers of rope.”

“Impressive.”

“I don’t like those cogs on Cassie’s shirt,” Naomi opined. “They seem like they were just plastered there for the sake of having them. They work well in the other design, though. They’re more seamlessly integrated. And Charlie, I love your use of color.”

“Yeah, I love the color, too,” Benny ended with. “This runway show had a severe lack of it, so the green and blue there—What did you use to make that?”

“Cables,” Charlie answered.

“Amazing. Among everything else, that pop of color is a ray of sunshine. I prefer the chain link in the skirt over the top. But, Dean. Brother, that skirt is an exquisite work of art.”

“Thanks,” Dean managed. He _might_ be fangirling a little over Benny Lafitte’s praise.

“Cole, Hannah,” Heidi continued. “Please tell us about your inspiration and who did what.”

Cole and Hannah glanced at each other, waiting for the other to begin. After a moment of silence, Cole launched into an explanation. “We got superhero movies. I made this look—” He pointed at the dress made out of Venetian blinds. “—and Hannah did the other one.”

“I have to say, Cole, your dress was my favorite look tonight.” Cole grinned. “And Hannah, that crop top is cute. I’m impressed that you managed to make those tiles stay together.”

“I don’t like the letters,” Zachariah commented. “They’re too obvious. But I really loved that crop top, too. Cole, I don’t know how you manipulated those blinds into such an impeccable hourglass dress, but it’s ingenious.”

“Thank you,” Cole muttered.

“They’re both cute,” Naomi declared. “You didn’t use the same materials in either of the designs, yet they’re still cohesive. This design with the crop top and skirt, it’s fun; it’s flirty. I never thought something made from supplies in a home improvement store could be so adorable.”

“Brother, sister, those looks are awe—some, let me tell ya. Your models would make great superheroes. Super Fashionistas.” The judges giggled.

“Now we will talk to the low-scoring teams. Bela, Linda,” Heidi moved on. “Please tell us about your inspiration and who designed what.”

Bela responded before Linda could speak. “We received the horror genre. I designed this—” She indicated the black dress. “—from sandpaper. The other look is Linda’s. She used tub lids, mesh, and duct tape, I believe.”

“Yes,” Linda affirmed.

“The duct tape is a little clichéd. I’ve seen people make outfits out of that before. It seems like you took the easy way out, Linda. And that cape is hideous.”

“Now, this is a case of being much too literal,” Zachariah said. “You don’t want to make your model wear a vampire costume.” Bela eyed Linda smugly; apparently she hadn’t been a fan of Linda’s design. “And the black make-up with the sandpaper dress is not subtle. At all.” Bela’s self-satisfied smirk vanished.

“I really do like this sandpaper dress,” Naomi conceded. “It’s too bad that you ruined it with horrific styling. And that top on the other design looks like a sandwich board.” Dean bit down on his lip to prevent himself from laughing. If he’d utilized the trash can lids, he might’ve wound up creating a sandwich board himself.

“Yes, that sandpaper dress is chic. It’s about the only good thing in either of these designs,” Benny concluded.

“Gordon, Castiel, please tell us about your inspiration and who did what,” Heidi resumed.

Gordon opened his mouth, and Cas appeared resigned to letting Gordon do the talking. “We wound up with science fiction. The bikini’s mine; the other look is Castiel’s.”

“What did you make that bikini out of? Rope?”

“Yep.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s so unflattering. It looks like she’s peeing green with all that stuff hanging off. Or maybe tangled up in vines.” Gordon clenched his jaw at the criticism as the judges chuckled.

“Yes, that bikini was such a terrible idea,” Zachariah concurred. “And those nipple rings? They’re an unnecessary lewd touch.” He turned to Cas. “Castiel, did you mean to have a scratch go down the center of your top?” Cas stood silently, undoubtedly contemplating his answer. “Was it an attempt to be edgy?”

“Um . . . ” Castiel hedged. God, Cas wasn’t even gonna defend himself, was he? Did he want to risk being out again? This time, there was no Tim Gunn save.

But maybe Cas was being wise. After all, Zachariah often rebuked designers if they gave “excuses.”

“Those pants are well-done, but that gash ruins the effect this design could’ve had. And, Gordon, those washers on the nipples . . . just, no.”

“I agree,” stated Naomi. “You manipulated that sheet metal with a great deal of skill, Castiel. As for that bikini—the less said about it, the better.”

“Yes, that bikini is an abomination. Reminds me of Barbarella. It’s an affront to the eyes, brother,” Benny quipped. The judges laughed again. “And it’s too bad about that scratch, Castiel. I like the lightning bolts, the pants . . . sorry, brother, but the inclusion of that scratch.—It brings your taste level into question.”

“Oh. Thank you for the feedback,” Cas replied.

Fuck, Dean couldn’t take it anymore. If Cas wouldn’t elaborate on the situation, Dean would. “Can I say somethin’?” Dean inserted.

“What is it, Dean?” Heidi inquired.

“That scratch wasn’t Cas’s idea. He’s too damn nice to say it, but it’s Gordon’s fault. Gordon sabotaged his design.”

The judges gawked at him. Heidi turned to Cas and Gordon. “Is this true?”

“Hell, no,” Gordon hissed. “Why would I sabotage my own partner?”

“I do not know,” Cas confessed. “But Dean is right. I did not—I did not purposefully scratch my top.”

“So he’s saying it was an accident,” Gordon argued.

“Review the damn footage,” Dean fumed. “I’d bet ya a thousand dollars that Gordon did it.”

“Castiel, why didn’t you tell us that the scratch wasn’t a part of your design?” Zachariah asked.

“I . . . ” Cas stammered.

“We discussed this last week, Castiel. You need to learn how to stand up for yourself.” Ugh, Dean hated this wilting flower portrait the show was painting of Cas. Yeah, Cas wanted to be nice, but that didn’t make him spineless. “You would have allowed yourself to be eliminated by neglecting to mention this information?”

“Perhaps,” Cas admitted quietly.

“This is a cutthroat business, Castiel. If you cannot assert yourself, you will not make it.”

“I can assert myself.”

“Really? I haven’t seen any proof of that. I question whether you fully understand what it takes to succeed in the fashion industry. You need more than technical skill. You need a backbone.”

“It is difficult to decide who is the weaker member of this team,” Naomi pounced. “Castiel, you lack the ability to stand up for yourself. Gordon, you have showed us time and again that your taste level is questionable.” Dean wanted to slap her, because really? Obviously, taste was a bigger issue. Besides, Cas wasn’t as weak-willed as Zachariah and Naomi claimed.

“Okay, designers,” Heidi cut in. “We’ve heard what you had to say. You may wait in the lounge. When you return, one of you will be the winner, and one or more of you will be out.”

One or more of you will be out? Shit. Heidi was all but broadcasting that this was probably a double-elimination episode. And if there was a double elimination, most likely both Gordon and Cas would be booted.

Damn. Tim might’ve saved Cas just to have him eliminated one challenge later.

It wasn’t fair, Dean reflected while the designers waited in the lounge. Cas was more talented than half of the remaining designers. It would be BS for the judges to eliminate him just because one of the others had a vendetta against him and he was too polite to respond in kind.

Cas fidgeted silently, clearly nervous. It took forever for everyone to be called back to the runway.

“As you know,” Heidi resumed after the designers had lined up on the runway. “One of you will be the winner, and one or more of you will be out.”

“Charlie.” Heidi turned toward her. “You are the winner of this challenge.”

“Really?” Charlie squealed.

Heidi grinned. “Really. Congratulations. You have immunity for the next week. You may leave the runway.”

“Thank you!” Charlie exclaimed before skipping backstage.

“Dean. Congratulations, you’re in. You may leave the runway.”

In the lounge, Dean awaited the remaining results with bated breath. Soon, Hannah, Cole, Bela, and Linda drifted into the lounge. A few minutes later, Gordon and Cas appeared.

“I’m out,” Gordon announced.

Cas stayed silent. As he shuffled farther into the lounge, Dean placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him from passing by. “Cas?” he ventured. “What about you?”

Cas sighed and offered a small smile. “I’m in—barely.”

“Thank God,” Dean breathed.

Before his brain could catch up with his body, Dean planted his lips on Cas’s. When he realized what he’d done, he jerked back.

_Shit_. He’d just _kissed_ Cas. In front of the other designers.

In front of the cameras.

Cas stared at him, stunned.

“I knew it!” Gordon screeched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gordon's outfit is inspired by an outfit that was actually on the show, Emilio Sosa's washer bikini.


	7. Red-Carpet Regal

Dean inched away from Cas, keenly aware that Cas’s eyes remained glued to him. He eyed Gordon, unsure of what to say.

“You fucking liar!” Gordon hurled at him. “I can’t believe I thought you were straight!”

“Now, wait a minute—” Dean protested.

Gordon strode toward him, looking as if he was preparing to strike Dean. And thing was, he could. He’d already been eliminated, so the threat of disqualification was moot.

Charlie stepped in between Dean and Gordon. “Leave him alone.”

“Shut up, you dyke!”

“Hey—” Dean snapped.

Tim finally entered the room. “What is going on in here?” Gordon dropped his combative stance. “Gordon, I’m sorry, but it’s time for you to go clean up your workspace.”

“Fine,” Gordon huffed.

As he retreated, Charlie shouted, “Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”

Gordon spun around, fuming. Tim gave him a warning look, and Gordon sullenly left the room.

xxxxxxxxxxx

_Gordon: It’s bullshit. Castiel somehow corrupted Dean, and he betrayed the Straight Brigade. It’s not my time to go. My bikini was sexy. But what can I do? [sighs]_

xxxxxxxxxx

Cas didn’t speak to Dean during the rest of the night. When they settled into their beds, an awkward silence descended. Dean reached for the light switch, and he raised an eyebrow in a question. Cas nodded, and Dean flipped it off.

Dean slept uneasily, his dreams taunting him with Cas’s rejection, how stupid he’d been to even make that move on Cas. Why’d he always have to act without thinking? Cas wasn’t interested in a romantic relationship with him, and now he’d ruined any chance there had been for a friendship.

Not to mention that Dean was straight.

Right, Winchester. Because having a crush on Cas made him _straight_.

No, he didn’t have a crush on Cas. That kiss—he’d just been relieved that Cas wasn’t out.

But then there was that warmth he’d started to feel while spending time with Cas.

Whatever. It wasn’t like it mattered, anyway. Cas probably hated him now.

The alarm blared all too soon. Dean kept his eyes closed, determined to stay asleep. He’d drifted off into a tenuous nothingness when a voice slammed into his consciousness.

“Dean? It’s time to wake up.”

Why did the voice sound so close? Dean cracked his eyes open and started at the sight before him.

Cas was perched on the end of Dean’s bed, one of his thighs millimeters from Dean’s waist.

Dean drew his legs toward himself and scooted back against the wall. “Cas, what the hell?” he groused. “How long you been watchin’ me sleep?”

“Not long,” Cas answered, blue eyes guileless.

“That’s creepy, y’know.”

“Is it?”

Was he serious? Of course he was; he was _Cas_ , after all. Socially clueless, adorable Cas.

“Yeah.”

“Oh. My apologies.”

“So. Why’re you sittin’ on my bed?”

Cas flushed, rubbing an unsure hand over the tendons of his neck. “Dean . . . ”

“Yeah?”

Cas averted his eyes. “Um. I think I like you, Dean.”

Dean snorted. “Thanks for the rousing endorsement.”

Cas’s eyes darted back to Dean’s face. “No. I mean. I _like_ . . . ” He leaned down, cupped Dean’s chin in his hands, and brushed his lips over Dean’s. “That’s what I mean,” he said nervously as he pulled back.

“Oh.”

Cas straightened up and clasped his hands together in his lap. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Why’re you apologizin’?”

“I don’t think you . . . ”

“I do,” Dean assured him. He grasped Cas’s shoulders and dragged him down. “C’mere.” He pressed his lips to Cas’s; then he insinuated his tongue into Cas’s mouth. _Fuck_ , he tasted amazing.

“Hmm,” Cas moaned. He pried his lips off of Dean’s. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled. He reached for Cas again, nibbling on his bottom lip until it dropped open so he could wrap his tongue around Cas’s.

They both flinched at a knock on the door.

“Shit,” Dean murmured, pulling back slightly, his lips still inches from Cas’s.

“Guys,” Cole called as he threw open the door. “You know we have to leave in ten min— _oh_!” He gasped at the sight of Dean and Cas sitting so close together, panting, their lips reddened from the kiss. “Sorry.”

Cas stood up. “No, please don’t apologize. You’re right. We should not tarry.”

On the way to Parsons, Dean began to panic. How would his relationship with Cas change? What would people in the workroom think? Would they know?

_Of course they’d know, Winchester. You freakin’_ kissed him _after elimination last night._

Maybe he could pass it off as a one-time incident, an expression of excitement. Then again, Cole had just witnessed an intimate moment between him and Cas.

Would Cole gossip?

No, Cole wasn’t the gossiping type.

How should Dean and Cas behave in front of the others? That seemed like something they should talk about. Perhaps if they could get some time alone for a snack later—

No, there’d still be cameras, dammit. He’d have to somehow convince Cas to accompany him to the bathroom without letting him know his true intentions.

That’d be easier if Cas wasn’t so oblivious to innuendoes—

“Dean,” Cas cut into his thoughts, briefly brushing a finger over his palm to get his attention. “We’re here.”

Everyone else was already heading toward the building. Dean climbed out of the vehicle, and he and Cas followed them.

“Good morning, designers,” Heidi greeted them inside. As usual, Tim stood next to her. “This week’s challenge is to design a red-carpet look for a special celebrity client.” The designers held their breath as they awaited the name. “Me.”

Oh, right. There was always a design-a-dress-for-Heidi challenge.

“I will wear the winning look to the world premiere of the film _Heart of an Angel_.” Barf. Sounded like something for the Hallmark Channel. “You will have one day for this challenge.”

After they sketched, Tim took them to Mood to select their fabrics. Dean and Cas shopped together, though they made vastly different choices. Cas picked up bolts of black lace and cerulean blue silk, and Dean snagged a deep red along with black-and-white plaid.

“You do realize that plaid isn’t usually used on the red carpet?” Cas commented dubiously.

“Yeah, I know,” Dean replied. “But I think I can make it work.”

“I hope so.” Cas donned a surprisingly mischievous smile. “I don’t want you to go yet.”

“Me, either.”

The others cast curious glances at them, but Dean ignored them. If they wanted to worry about him and Cas instead of their garments, that was their problem.

They rushed to the cash register when Tim called time. Cas’s items cost two dollars more than the budget, so Dean gave him some of his change. Behind them, Bela looked scandalized, as if something like that had never happened before. But it had in past seasons, Dean remembered. Perhaps she just couldn’t fathom why anyone would help out “the competition”; after all, unlike everyone else, she never offered assistance to a flailing designer.

xxxxxxxxxxx

_Cole: No doubt about it—Castiel and Dean were kissing this morning. I didn’t actually see the kiss, but I could tell. I’m not gonna tell anyone, though. That’s their business, not mine. If they wanna share, that’s cool . . . but I’m not gonna be the one to spread the word._

_Bela: Something is obviously going on between Dean and Castiel. [rolls her eyes] I don’t know what they’re thinking. This isn’t_ The Bachelor.

_Linda: Everyone’s speculating about the relationship between Dean and Castiel, but I’m focusing on my design._

xxxxxxxxxxx

“I’m going to eat lunch, Dean,” Cas informed him. “Would you like to join me?”

“Sure, Cas,” Dean replied. But once they reached the breakroom, Dean grabbed Cas’s wrist and dragged him down the hallway.

“Dean, where are we going?” Cas demanded.

“You’ll see.” When they reached the bathroom, Dean shouldered the door open and dragged Cas inside. “We need to talk.”

Cas quirked an eyebrow. “About what?”

“This . . . _thing_ between us.”

“Do we have a thing, Dean?”

_Is he serious?_ “You tellin’ me we don’t?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then what the hell was this morning about?”

Cas lowered his eyes. “I don’t know what to think . . . I have been told that I often misread cues.” He raised his eyes, and Dean felt like he was staring into his soul. It was uncomfortable but not entirely unpleasant. “That I see more significance in things than normal people do.”

“Who told you that? That asshat Balthazar?” Cas flushed, nodding. “Cas, I _kissed you_. I said I wanted it, didn’t I?”

“You meant it? You weren’t leading me on?”

“Fuck no.”

“Oh.” Dean followed the movement of Cas’s eyelashes, how they fluttered meekly, entranced. “It appears that I am an imbecile.”

“What?” Dean exclaimed, taken aback. “Why would you say that?”

Cas sighed. “All my life, Dean, I’ve been so sheltered. Then Balthazar took me in. I learned almost everything I know about the world from him, and he took advantage of it . . . He warned me against other men when they acted interested, said that they were leading me on, that they just wanted sex. He told me he was the only one I could trust. And I . . . ” Cas’s voice lowered to a whisper. “I don’t know if I can trust myself. Not after I fell for Balthazar.”

“Cas . . . ” Dean squeezed his hand. “I am interested. Really.” He chewed his lip. He wanted Cas to like him. A lot. When had that desire grown so strong?

“As am I.”

“Good.” He pecked Cas on the lips. “Now. What’re we gonna do around the others?”

“Whatever you are comfortable with.”

“You don’t care?”

“No. But you . . . ” He squeezed Dean’s hand back. “I understand if you want to keep it from everyone.”

Dean contemplated the matter for a minute. “It might be hard to do, considering the cameras. And Cole probably already knows somethin’s up.”

“Yes.”

“So. No hidin’.”

Cas grinned, his eyes sparkling. “Okay.”

“Oh, and one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t ever let me get away with bein’ a douche. I don’t wanna be another Balthazar.”

“I don’t think you ever could be like him, Dean. I may doubt myself, but I am sure of that.”

“Hope you’re right,” Dean mumbled. He didn’t have as much faith in himself as Cas did. He knew very well that he could be a jackass.

Cas sealed their agreement with a kiss. Dean tried to prolong it, but Cas pulled back and reminded him, “We should hurry. The challenge will be over before we know it.”

“Yeah, guess you’re right.”

After they indulged in a quick snack, they returned to their work.

xxxxxxxxxxx

If he was gonna continue this thing with Cas, Dean had to let Sam in on it ASAP. He didn’t want his brother to learn about it from TV.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam greeted him when he picked up on the Skype call. “How’s it goin’?”

“Um . . . it’s okay,” Dean replied.

“Did the drama simmer down?”

“Yeah. Sort of.”

“What do you mean ‘sort of’?”

Dean swallowed. He had to say it now, or he’d lose his nerve. “So, remember Cas?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You only talk about him _every day._ ”

“So Ikindakissedhim.”

“What?”

“Ikindakissedhim.”

“Can you slow down, Dean? I can’t tell what you’re sayin’.”

Dean sighed. “Okay. Um. I kissed him.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “What?! You’re tellin’ me that the macho Dean Winchester _kissed a man_?”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled.

“Never thought you’d swing that way.”

“Me, neither,” Dean admitted quietly. He met Sam’s eyes. “You’re not mad at me, are ya?”

“Mad? Why would I be mad?”

Dean shrugged. “Dad’s gonna be mad.”

“Probably.”

“He’s already so disappointed in me and—”

“Dean. Stop it. Don’t let what Dad thinks get in your way. Mom would be proud of you, y’know.”

“Yeah.”

“So. I take it that Castiel reciprocated?”

He grinned. “Yeah.” He couldn’t wait to see where things went. He hadn’t been interested in anyone for some time, and something about Cas . . . well, it warmed his heart.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Charlie: Red carpet really isn’t my style. Thank God I’m safe this week._

_Bela: Red carpet is my specialty. [smirks] This is my challenge to lose._

xxxxxxxxxx

“Designers,” Tim called as he entered the workroom. Shit. It was time for critiques. “I have a special guest with me today.”

Heidi slinked through the doorway and waved, beaming. “Hello, designers!”

“Hey!” everyone called back.

Her presence made sense. She would wear the winning look, after all. But if she hated his design, he was fucked. There wasn’t enough time to start over.

Dean kept his eye on Heidi’s movements as he laid out what he’d done so far. First, she headed toward Charlie, who was creating what appeared to be a color-blocked dress in hues of pink and purple. All that color screamed Charlie, but Dean didn’t know how Heidi would feel about wearing such a loud dress. Next, she spoke to Bela, whose gown involved black fabric and lace. Fairly standard. Linda’s dress seemed rather simplistic, from what Dean could see of the sparkly black gown. He hadn’t gotten a good look at Hannah’s and Cole’s plans, but their critiques appeared to go well.

Finally, Tim and Heidi materialized at Cas’s table. Dean listened in as they discussed his design.

Tim examined Cas’s fabrics and declared, “I must say, Castiel, this seems rather chic.”

“Thank you, Tim,” Cas responded.

“Yes, I like it, too,” Heidi agreed. “How are you planning to incorporate the lace?”

“I was thinking of attaching it to the top and bottom edges of the gown.”

“And how long is this dress?”

“It will end at around the middle of the thigh.”

Heidi grinned. “I do enjoy showing off my legs.” Cas flushed. “But may I make a suggestion?”

“Please.”

“In your sketch, your gown was strapless, no?”

“Yes.”

“Then you might want to rethink your use of lace or the design of the top. You don’t want it to look like lingerie. I like to look sexy on the red carpet . . . but not like I belong in the bedroom.” Dean chortled, and the other three glanced askance at him. Dean eyed them sheepishly before turning away.

“Yes, Heidi. I see your point. I shall revise my design. Thank you, Heidi, Tim.”

“Keep on, Castiel,” Tim urged. Then they drifted to Dean’s table.

“Hi, Tim. Heidi,” Dean said nervously.

“Hi, Dean,” Heidi replied. She hefted the black-and-white plaid. “This does not seem like it will translate well onto the red carpet.”

“Yes, Dean,” Tim concurred. “It might read as too heavy.”

“Don’t worry; I’ll be tasteful with it,” Dean reassured them with more bravado than he felt.

“What are you going to do with it?” Heidi asked.

Dean hesitated to explain. What if they hated his idea? “I’m going to line the inside of this red gown. It’s got slits, right?” He pointed at them. “So when someone wears the dress, you get a peek at the plaid underneath, see?” He chewed his lip as he awaited their verdict.

“I like it,” Heidi decided at last. “It’s a nice little unexpected surprise.”

“It’s unique,” Tim added.

They approved. Thank God. After they left, Dean proceeded with more confidence.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Hannah: When Heidi walked into the workroom, I was really nervous. But she was so nice to me, and she liked what I had so far._

_Linda: Heidi seems so sweet during judging, but she was actually kind of harsh in the workroom. I don’t know how I’m going to fix my garment with so little time left._

xxxxxxxxxx

When they arrived at their apartment after midnight, Cas and Dean each snatched a bottle of water from the fridge and collapsed onto the couch. Cas quickly twisted off the cap and guzzled half of it before coming up for air.

“Whoa, there, Cas,” Dean gibed, “thirsty much?”

Cas frowned. “I do not understand that phrasing. If you are asking if I am thirsty, the answer is yes.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.” He wanted to hold Cas’s hand, but Cole lingered in the room, and he didn’t want to make Cole uncomfortable. As they sipped their water, Cas gazed at Dean, eyes dancing, and Dean returned the fond look.

Cole cleared his throat. “Guys? Can I ask you a question?”

Dean startled at the interruption and whipped around to face Cole. “Shoot.”

“Um, this is kinda awkward,” he stumbled, “and none of my business, I know. But . . . did I interrupt somethin’ between you two this morning?”

Cas watched Dean apprehensively, waiting for him to answer. Dean decided to take a cavalier approach. “If you’re askin’ if we shared an intimate moment, then yeah.”

“An intimate moment?”

“We kissed, okay?”

“Oh.” Cole nodded to himself. “I thought so. Don’t worry; I won’t tell anybody.”

“Tell who you want,” Dean tossed out.

A stunned expression momentarily flitted across Cole’s face. “Okay then. Um. I’m gonna hit the hay.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

“Good night, Cole,” Cas added.

After Cole departed the room, Cas snatched at Dean’s hand. Dean jumped at the unexpected gesture, and Cas dropped his hand. “I’m sorry. Was that too forward?”

Dean snorted. “Hardly.” He laced his fingers through Cas’s and leaned toward him. “It’s not like you kissed me.” He rested his forehead against Cas’s. “Which I wouldn’t complain about, by the way.” He pressed his lips to Cas’s, but Cas pushed him away. Dean tried not to feel insulted, but seriously? Cas had been eager this morning.

“Let’s retire for the night, hmm?” Cas suggested.

“‘Retire for the night’? What is this, the 1920s?”

“Dean,” Cas huffed. “Please do not make fun of my speaking patterns.”

Dean squeezed his hand. “I only tease ya because I like ya.”

Cas reddened as he stood up, pulling Dean with him. “Come.” He smirked. “We may resume kissing in the bedroom, if you wish.”

“Awesome.”

When they reached the bedroom, Dean closed the door behind them then shoved Cas onto his bed. Grinning, he straddled Cas and said, “Now, where were we?”

“Here.” Cas gripped Dean’s shoulders and leaned up, sealing his lips to Dean’s. Dean nibbled on Cas’s bottom lip, and Cas gasped. Dean took the opportunity to lick into Cas’s mouth. Cas gave as good as he got, the pressure on Dean’s lips bruising. Too soon, they had to break apart for breath.

“Wow,” Cas exhaled.

“Yeah. Wow,” Dean echoed. Kissing Cas was intoxicating, and he wouldn’t mind getting drunk on it.

Cas gently shoved Dean back and stood up.

“What the hell, Cas?” Dean groused.

Cas pulled out his pajamas. “We really should go to sleep. You know how early we have to get up.”

“Fuck, I don’t think I could sleep right now.”

Cas smiled. “I’m not sure if I can, either. But we should try.” He lowered his eyes shyly. “If and when I do fall asleep, however, I shall have pleasant dreams.”

Dean chortled, and Cas wrinkled his brow in confusion. God, it was so damn cute.

“What is so funny, Dean?”

Dean shook his head, still amused. “Nothing, Cas. Just . . . I’ll probably have pleasant dreams, too.” He wouldn’t be surprised if he woke up with a hard case of morning wood.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Castiel: I do like Dean. Very much. I know it’s odd . . . When I first met him, I didn’t think we could ever be friends. While I could admit that he was handsome, I didn’t think I’d ever be attracted to him . . . let alone that he could feel the same way. But my initial impressions of Dean were wrong. He puts on this tough-guy façade, but underneath . . . underneath, he is a kind, caring, talented man._

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean informed the people in hair and makeup that he wanted Cassie to have a natural look for today’s runway. Simple elegance seemed the best way to go for this challenge, so he chose black pumps to go with the dress.

As usual, Heidi started the runway show by introducing the regular judges.

“And finally, we have our guest judge, Tara Benchley, star of the upcoming horror film _Hell Hazers II: The Reckoning_.”

Tara waved. “Hi, designers,” she called.

“Hi,” everyone shouted back. Everyone but Dean, at least. Dean stared at the brunette, mouth agape. She was one of his favorite actresses. She was so underrated, as were her movies.

Who could blame him for being starstruck?

“Oh, and one more thing, designers,” Heidi declared. “This is the last challenge in which the winner will gain immunity for next week.

“Okay. Let’s start the show.”

Cassie strolled down the runway first. The red dress with thin straps hit just above the knee, and each leg bore a slit to the middle of the thigh. With every step Cassie took, you caught a glimpse of the black-and-white plaid lining underneath.

Bela’s model walked next, sporting a floor-length black dress with long black lace sleeves. It was a surprisingly dowdy entry from someone Dean could (grudgingly) admit usually displayed good taste. Heidi would never wear something that covered her that much.

Dean smiled at Charlie’s design, a color-blocked purple-and-pink dress that flared out at the waist and ended at the knee. It didn’t exactly scream “red carpet,” but it perfectly captured Charlie’s sunny aesthetic.

Like Bela’s design, Linda’s dress was too heavy, a black sequined affair with long sleeves and a hem that hit the middle of the shin. She’d also paired it with clunky black booties.

Cas had clearly taken Tim’s and Heidi’s feedback to heart; his design did not remind Dean of lingerie in the least. The blue silk dress still ended mid-thigh, but now it had long black lace sleeves rather than lace trim. He had also included a black lace belt. Cas deserved to win the challenge for sure.

Cole’s dress seemed fairly standard, a red floor-length sleeveless affair with a black sequined belt and glittery black pumps.

Finally, Hannah’s model closed out the runway show. She wore a knee-length sleeveless purple dress that puffed out at the bottom, like a ball gown. Hannah had tastefully accessorized the garment with a white pearl necklace.

Afterward, the designers lined up on the runway and waited for Heidi to speak.

“When I call your name, please step forward,” Heidi said. “Hannah.” After Hannah had obeyed, Heidi smiled at her. “Congratulations. You’re in. You may leave the runway.

“The rest of you represent the high and low scores. One of you will be the winner, and one of you will be out.

“Bela. Please tell us about your look.”

Bela donned her too-perfect, self-assured smile. “I wanted to create something timeless and sophisticated, something that would call to mind Old Hollywood. So I chose lace and the color black.”

“I must say, Bela, this is a little _too_ old-fashioned. On the red carpet, I like to wear something that emphasizes my assets, and I do not think I am alone. But this completely obliterates the model’s body.”

“I have to agree,” Zachariah put in. “It looks like something Helen Mirren might wear on the red carpet, and that’s not the demographic you’re shooting for.”

“Oh, Helen Mirren has a fabulous body, and she knows it,” Naomi declared. “She would not wear this monstrosity. It’s like those things nuns wear.”

“Habits?” Zachariah suggested.

“Yes, those.”

“Yeah, this looks like something an old woman’s ghost might wear in a horror movie,” Tara Benchley ended with. The other judges tittered. “It is not a good design for this challenge. At all.”

“Charlie, please tell us about your look,” Heidi continued.

“When I think of the red carpet, I think of something fresh. Daring,” Charlie explained. “Something that pushes the boundaries of fashion but at the same time is conventional. I thought creating a garment with a youthful vibe would achieve that effect.”

“This is cute, Charlie. I would wear it.” Beaming, Charlie practically vibrated with excitement. Heidi claiming she would wear the dress hinted at a potential win.

“It doesn’t exactly seem like red-carpet material,” Zachariah pointed out. “Maybe it would work at the VMAs or an event like that. As always, it’s refreshing to see how much you embrace color.”

“Yes, I love your use of color,” Naomi concurred. “Patterns usually don’t translate well onto the red carpet, but color blocking is such a classic approach that it works wonderfully.”

“I would gladly wear this to the premiere of _Hell Hazers II_ ,” Tara concluded. “But _Heart of an Angel_ is such a serious movie . . . something more traditional would be more appropriate for that. Good job, though. I love it; it’s my favorite dress up there.”

Charlie’s jaw dropped at the praise, and Dean had to tamp down a momentary stab of jealousy. Tara Benchley’s favorite dress had been designed by _Charlie_. Not him. Maybe it was for the best, however. If Tara Benchley had said the same thing about his dress, he might have fainted from astonishment; then he would’ve looked like a moron.

“Cole, please tell us about your look,” Heidi resumed.

“Well, Heidi, I aimed for timelessness and a hint of sparkle. Something that would land you on the best-dressed list,” Cole elaborated.

“I’m sorry, Cole, but this is just so blah. I’ve seen it a million times before.”

“Yes,” Zachariah agreed. “It certainly wouldn’t land anyone on the worst-dressed list, but it wouldn’t make the best-dressed list, either.”

“I don’t like the belt,” Naomi opined. “It makes me think of the eighties. It’s like something someone from _The Golden Girls_ would wear to try to be cool.” _Golden Girls_ , eh? Ouch.

“It does nothing for me,” Tara commented. “I don’t dislike it, but it’s forgettable. You want to stand out on the red carpet, y’know?” Cole nodded.

“Castiel,” Heidi declared. “Please tell us about your look.”

“As you know, I like to work with lace.” The judges nodded. “But a gown composed only from lace seemed a bit clichéd, so I used it just for the sleeves. It creates the effect of being somewhat restrained while the low hemline also highlights your legs. And I thought the belt evenly balanced out all the elements.”

Heidi smiled. “I do like to show off my legs.”

Zachariah patted her on the back. “She’s famous for them, you know.”

“Yes. I had the privilege of seeing your work in progress. Everyone’s, in fact. This is much better than your original plan. I love it.”

“It’s deceptively understated,” Zachariah added. “It doesn’t look like much at first, but the more I gaze at it, the more it sucks me in. Those sleeves turn an ordinary dress into an extraordinary one.”

“This is enchanting, Castiel,” Naomi professed. “There’s no other word for it.”

“It is very pretty,” Tara tacked on. “Not a blatant showstopper; it’s more nuanced than that. But at the end of the night, I think I’d remember that one quite well.”

“Linda, please tell us about your look,” Heidi continued.

“Black is a classic color for the red carpet,” Linda replied. “And the sequins make it stand out from all the other black dresses that people would wear.”

“It stands out, but not in the right away. It has the same problem as Bela’s design: it covers up too much of her body.”

“Yes, it’s probably the most matronly dress up there,” Zachariah stated. Matronly? That was almost certainly the kiss of death. Dean didn’t disagree with the assessment. “And those shoes are truly awful with that dress.”

“I brought up the eighties earlier. That’s what sequins make me think of. Someone from _The Golden Girls_ might wear Cole’s look, but not even they would wear yours,” Naomi spouted. The judges chuckled, and Linda’s expression wilted. Dean kinda felt bad for her. She was a pretty cool lady, and the judges were skewering her.

“I’m sorry, but it makes me want to barf,” Tara finished. Poor Linda.

“Dean, please tell us about your look,” Heidi resumed. Only when the attention turned to him did Dean realize he must be in the top based on how the judging had panned out so far. He couldn’t believe his luck was still holding up.

Suddenly nervous, Dean cleared his throat. “Um. I thought I’d go for something timeless with a twist. I knew plaid on a dress might skew too junior, so I used it to line the dress underneath.”

“I really do love this dress, Dean. I like the little peep of plaid we got while Cassie walked down the runway. It’s a nice variation on a standard look.”

“Yes, and those slits aren’t too high. They reveal just enough leg. It’s tasteful,” Zachariah said.

“This dress is well-crafted,” Naomi added. “I’m amazed that you created something so polished in one day.”

Tara grinned. “It’s a cute little dress.” Okay. So that wasn’t much feedback, but at least freakin’ _Tara Benchley_ liked his design.

“Designers, we’ve heard what you have to say,” Heidi announced. “Please wait in the lounge while we deliberate. When you return, one of you will be the winner, and one of you will be out.”

In the lounge, Dean collapsed on a couch between Charlie and Cas.

“Can you believe it?!” Charlie squealed. “ _Tara Benchley_ said my dress was _her favorite_!”

“Congratulations,” Cas responded, smiling at her enthusiasm.

“I fuckin’ love _Hell Hazers_. I can’t wait to see the sequel.”

“You love _Hell Hazers_ , too?!” Dean exclaimed.

“Hell _yeah_. And Tara Benchley . . . such a goddess!”

“I know!”

Dean was about to reply when he noticed that, in a chair across from them, Bela was scowling at the group on the couch. Dean turned to her. “What’s your problem?”

“Castiel is my problem,” Bela retorted.

What the fuck? They’d just gotten rid of Gordon, and now Bela wanted to stir shit up?

Cas winced at Bela’s pronouncement. “What is wrong, Bela?” he asked gently.

“You stole my idea.”

Cas tilted his head to the side and considered her. “Why do you say that?”

“Your dress had the same sleeves as mine. But the judges _praised_ yours and _hated_ mine.”

“Hmm. I suppose our sleeves are similar, but that is merely a coincidence.”

“No. You stole it from me.”

“Why do you think that, Bela?” Dean snapped.

“Because. He had totally different plans for his dress; then after Heidi and Tim came in, he completely changed them.”

“Based on their critique,” Cas added.

“Yeah, boohoo, they didn’t like your original design. There are a thousand ways you could’ve revised it without copying me.”

She wasn’t gonna give up, was she? Fuck. Dean guessed it wouldn’t be a season of _Project Runway_ without at least one allegation that someone had stolen an idea from a fellow designer.

“It’s not like those sleeves are original to you,” Charlie pointed out. “They’re pretty common.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t copy me.”

“Oh, shut up, Bela,” Dean bit out.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Bela hissed.

“Bela, it’s okay,” Linda interjected. “Let it go. Don’t waste your energy getting worked up over something that’s already happened.”

“ _Fine_. But I’ve got my eye on you, Castiel. If you pull something like that again . . . you’ll be sorry.”

Was that supposed to be intimidating? Because it was actually kinda pathetic.

Soon, they were called back to the runway.

“Charlie,” Heidi began. “Congratulations. You’re in. You may leave the runway.” Charlie skipped off to the lounge, and Heidi turned to Dean and Cas. “Dean. Castiel. One of you will be the winner.

“Castiel. You’re in.

“That means you are the winner, Dean. Congratulations. You have immunity for next week. You may both leave the runway.”

Dean resisted the urge to grab Cas’s hand while they strolled backstage. Despite their talk yesterday, he still wasn’t sure how open they should be about their developing relationship.

“Who’s the winner?” Hannah asked backstage. Cas gestured at Dean.

“Congratulations!” Hannah and Charlie cried.

“Thanks,” Dean mumbled, face heating up. “Personally, I think Cas was robbed.”

“Nonsense,” Cas said. He threw his arms around Dean, clinging to him tightly. “You deserved it,” Cas whispered into Dean’s ear. Over his shoulder, Dean observed Charlie and Hannah eyeing each other with raised eyebrows. How much did they suspect? Whatever. He didn’t care.

He skimmed his fingers down Cas’s back then over his arm, squeezing his wrist before drawing away.

“Do you know what this means, Dean?” Cas inquired.

“Heidi’s gonna wear my dress,” Dean answered, awed at the thought.

“Yes. But do you know what else it means?

“No,” he replied as he stepped back. “What?”

An almost-smile played at Cas’s lips. “We’ve both won two challenges.”

Shit, he was right. Dean had almost been booted during the second challenge, yet here he was now, a victor of two. And only other one designer had won that many. Cas.

“Damn,” Dean murmured in shock. “Holy shit! . . . But I’m like, I was . . . I’m one of the worst designers here.”

“No, Dean.” Cas’s eyes grew sad, and he massaged Dean’s shoulder. “You are a serious contender. You are much better than you give yourself credit for . . . and than I initially thought.”

“God, stop with the sexual tension and kiss already!” Charlie shouted.

Dean and Cas jumped. “Say what now?” Dean spluttered..

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Oh, c’mon, you two are _so obvious_. Especially with what happened after the last challenge.”

“And ten shades of adorable,” Hannah inserted.

Okay, no way in hell was Dean _adorable_.

Bela swept into the room, and everyone quieted. Cole and Linda followed soon after.

“Who’s out?” Hannah asked.

“I am,” Linda admitted.

“Aw,” Charlie said. “We’ll miss you, Linda.”

Everyone, even freakin’ Bela, gave Linda a hug before Tim came to tell her to pack up her workspace. The judges’ decision didn’t surprise Dean, but he’d enjoyed having Linda in the workroom. She was the mom of the group, someone who could calm everyone down when they got rowdy. He had a bad feeling that drama might start up again with her gone.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Linda: I knew I was probably going to be out as soon as Zachariah called my red-carpet look matronly. Honestly, I never expected to get this far in the competition. I had a lot of fun, and I learned a lot. Fashion design is my second career, and this has been an invaluable experience._


	8. Trio Resort Wear

Soon after hitting snooze on the alarm clock, Dean forced himself to wake up. Opening his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of Cas stretching. Which meant he’d returned to his usual routine.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean mumbled as he sat up.

Cas paused in extending his right arm and glanced at Dean. “Good morning, Dean.”

A disgustingly fluffy, fuzzy feeling settled in Dean’s gut. Waking up like this, it was so damn domestic.

And he _liked_ it.

He’d never thought he could feel this way.

He bounded out of bed, grabbed some clothes, and informed Cas he was going to the bathroom. He took a long, relaxing piss before changing his clothes. When he returned to the bedroom, Cas had dressed for the day.

“Dean?” Cas ventured.

“Hmm?” Dean hummed.

“Do you think everyone knows about us?”

Dean snorted. “Charlie and Hannah do. So does Cole. I’d be surprised if anyone didn’t know.”

Cas brandished a cheeky smile. “Then may I do this in the workroom?” He approached Dean, cupped his chin, and kissed him deeply.

Dean laughed when they pulled back. “Nah, we wouldn’t want to be too distracting. ’Sides, we’ve got our own work to do.”  
“Oh.”

“But when we return to the apartment . . . or even if we finish early, who knows?” Dean winked.

Cas chuckled. “All right. That is acceptable.”

Dean bumped his shoulder. “Just acceptable, huh?”

Cas smoothed a hand down Dean’s arm. “I would prefer to be kissing you all day, frankly,” he teased. “But I suppose I must become the next great American designer first.”

“Nah, _I_ must become the next great American designer.”

“You hang on to that delusion.” Cas said seriously, but his eyes twinkled, and he couldn’t prevent himself from giggling. It wasn’t that funny, but Dean joined in, unable to resist Cas’s amusement.

He liked this mischievous, confident version of Cas. He hoped he stayed.

xxxxxxxxxx

When the designers arrived at Parsons, they headed toward the runway to await their next challenge. Heidi and Tim strolled out a few minutes later.

“Good morning, designers,” Heidi called.

“Good morning,” everyone chanted.

“Look at you. There are only six of you left. You’ve made it to the halfway mark. Congratulations! Are you ready to hear about your next challenge?” The designers grunted in the affirmative. “You will be working in predetermined groups of three.” Everyone grimaced. Seriously, hadn’t they just done a team challenge? “We have ensured that no one has been put with someone who they have worked with before. You and your teammates will design a cohesive three-look resort collection. This will be a two-day challenge.”

“And now, for the groupings,” Tim announced. “Castiel, Charlie, and Cole, you three are a team. Bela, Dean, and Hannah, you are the other team. Any questions?” Everyone shook their heads. “Okay. You have thirty minutes to plan and sketch.”

Fuck, Dean had to work with _Bela_? She was gonna try to take control of the team. At least Hannah was cool, but he wasn’t sure how much she’d be able to stand up to Bela.

“Should we design three swimsuits with cover-ups?” Hannah suggested.

“Too obvious,” Bela judged. “We should do maxi dresses.”

“That’s also obvious,” Dean pointed out.

Bela scowled at him. “Got a better idea?”

“Yeah. I think . . . let’s do three looks for the same girl. Like, what she would wear early in the morning, what she’d wear at the beach, and what she’d wear in the evening.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Bela conceded, expression sour. “I’m doing evening.”

Trust Bela not to give anyone else a chance to claim evening. “How about you, Hannah?” Dean asked. “What would you like to do?”

“Can I do the beach?” Hannah replied.

“Sure. Guess that means I get the morning look. Okay, so. Our looks have to be cohesive. I’m thinking—” Dean sketched out a plaid sweater with three-quarter-length sleeves. “I’m doin’ plaid. Light blue”

“Plaid clashes with everything!” Bela objected.

“Not if we do it right. Why, what were you wanting to do?”

“Ombre in lavender and violet. Maybe a maxi dress.”

“That goes with plaid just fine. Hannah, what do you think?”

“It’ll work. We have to stay true to our aesthetics.”

“Right.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Bela groaned.

“Hannah, what’re you thinking?” Dean inquired.

Hannah passed her sketch to Dean. “I want to do a pastel green one-piece with a sheer white caftan. The caftan will have a plunging V-neck and fringe on the bottom.”

“God, Hannah, no one puts fringe on a caftan!” Bela retorted. She was right, but why’d she have to be so damn rude?

“Okay,” Hannah sighed. “I’ll leave off the fringe.”

“One-pieces are too modest,” Bela pointed out.

“Yes, they are modest,” Hannah admitted. “But our woman is a classy girl, isn’t she?”

“You don’t have to wear a one-piece to be classy.”

“Haven’t you ever seen _Baywatch?_ They wear one-pieces and manage to look sexy.”

Yeah, Pam Anderson running down the beach in that form-fitting suit . . .

“Dean, where’d you go?” Bela demanded.

Dean reddened when he realized he’d drifted off into a _Baywatch_ fantasy. Then he thought about Cas wearing nothing but a Speedo . . .

“Dean!” Bela screeched again.

“Oh. Sorry,” Dean muttered.

“Don’t you think Hannah should do a tankini at least?”

“Nah, her plan’s cool.”

Hannah gave Bela a smug look. Bela opened her mouth, probably to bitch again, but she abruptly shut it when Tim called time. It was time to go to Mood. Thank God.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Charlie: Our team is awesome. The Three C’s._

_Hannah: Bela and Dean obviously do not like each other. They’ve already started snapping at each other like crazy. [sighs] This challenge is going to be exhausting._

xxxxxxxxxx

When they returned from Mood, Bela scrutinized everyone else’s fabric. “Hannah, this green looks so damn cheap,” she complained. “Why couldn’t you choose something more luxe?”

“I was trying to stay under budget,” Hannah replied patiently. “Your fabric cost more than Dean’s and mine put together, you know.”

“That’s because I have taste.” Hannah looked as if she was struggling to maintain her composure.

Dean, on the other hand, didn’t care if he lost his temper with Bela, so he jumped in. “Leave her alone. If she had picked something different, you wouldn’t have been able to get your precious ‘quality’ fabric.”

“I would have compromised if she had gone for something better than _that_.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m not unreasonable, Dean.”

“Sure you’re not.”

“Really? Give me an example.”

“Hmm, how about when you accused Cas of copying your sleeves?”

“Oh, my God, this is because of your precious Castiel, isn’t it?”

“What? No!” So the thing between him and Cas obviously wasn’t a secret.

“You know he’s the competition, right?”

“Why’d you drag him into this?”

“You’re the one who dragged him into this.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Whatever.” She grabbed the white fabric Dean had bought and studied it. “Why’d you buy this?”

“Hey, Cassie can’t wear just a sweater down the runway.”

“I thought it was going to be a sweater dress.”

“I never said that. No. It’s a sweater, and then she’ll have white capris to go with it.”

“Do something else. Capris are hideous.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I can’t let myself be represented by a design I hate.”

“ _You’re_ not being represented by it. I am.”

“But we’re on the same team, so yes, I have to stand by it, too.”

“Hey, it doesn’t clash with your damn ombre dress; I’m doin’ it.”

“Ugh, you are so infuriating!”

“You are both infuriating,” Hannah retorted. “Please, just shut up. Both of you.” Bela and he stared at her, flabbergasted that the normally unflappable Hannah had castigated them.

“Sorry,” Dean muttered. He glanced at Bela and found he couldn’t look at her without losing his cool. “I’ll be back.” He needed to take a few minutes to calm down.

In the breakroom, he snagged a can of Coke and waved at Cole, who was eating a granola bar.

“How’re things with your team so far?” Cole asked.

“Peachy,” Dean replied sarcastically.

“What’s wrong?”

“Freakin’ _Bela_. She has somethin’ to say about every little thing.”

“Huh. Funny. I found her pleasant to work with.”

“Guess she likes you better. Apparently she thinks Hannah and I don’t have good taste.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“How about you? How’s your team?” He wished he’d gotten to work with Cas and Charlie. They were his favorite people here.

Cole grinned. “It’s fun so far. Charlie likes to call us The Three C’s.”

It took Dean a moment to get it. “Ah. I see. ’Cause all your names begin with C.” He chortled. “Interesting coincidence.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” Cole threw away his wrapper. “Well, I better get to work. Good luck.”

“Yeah, you, too.”

After Dean finished his Coke, he returned to the workroom and started on the sweater, carefully avoiding meeting Bela’s eye. Chances were, if he did, she’d do something to piss him off.

xxxxxxxxxx

 _Bela: I_ hate _what Dean and Hannah are designing. It’ll be a miracle if we don’t end up on the bottom. Guess Hannah will have to be the one to go since Dean has immunity. God, I wish he didn’t. He so doesn’t belong here. He’s the worst one left. I mean, with all the rough edges to his work, it’s obvious that he’s self-taught. I don’t understand what the judges see in him._

_Cole: We decided to create a swimsuit collection. I love what everyone’s doing, and I hope the judges will, too._

xxxxxxxxxx

Toward the end of the day, Tim arrived to give their critiques. He headed toward Bela, Dean, and Hannah first. “Hello,” he greeted them.

“Hi, Tim,” the three designers replied in unison.

“What are you three working on?”

Just as Dean had predicted, Bela launched into an answer without consulting anyone else. “We are creating three looks for one woman to wear over the course of the day.”

“Seems like a smart strategy.”

Bela beamed. “Thank you.” Of course she’d take credit for _Dean’s_ idea.

“This maxi dress you’re working on . . . it’s lovely, Bela.”  
“Thanks. I plan on pleating the skirt portion. What do you think?”

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.” He strode toward Dean. “What are you working on, Dean?”

“It’s the morning look. For really early, when there’s still a breeze on the beach, y’know?” Tim nodded. “So, I’ve got this sky blue plaid sweater, which I haven’t started yet, and the white capris I’m finishing up here.”

Tim eyed Bela’s and Hannah’s designs before he spoke. “I am not sure I understand how it fits in with the rest of the collection.”

“We’ve got pastel-ish colors, right? And the white kinda goes with Hannah’s caftan.”

“You need more than color to tie the collection together, Dean. Think about that.”

“Okay. Thanks, Tim.”

Dean tuned Tim out as he consulted with Hannah. Fuck, he loved his look. He wasn’t gonna change it one bit. Besides, he hadn’t bought any other fabric. Tim usually gave great advice, but the judges didn’t _always_ agree with him.

When Tim left their table, Bela elbowed Dean.

“Ow!” Dean exclaimed. “What was that for?”

“So. How’re you gonna revise your look?” Bela asked.

“What?”

“I heard what Tim told you.”  
“Oh. I’m not doin’ anything different.”

“You _have to_ , Dean!”

“No, I don’t.”

“The collection needs to be cohesive—

“But I _like_ my look.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Leave me alone.”

“You might have immunity,” Bela snapped, “but Hannah and I don’t, and I’m not letting your look drag us into the bottom.”

“It’s not gonna—”

“It might if it doesn’t look like it belongs in the collection!”

“Bela’s right,” Hannah interjected. Really? She was siding with Bela now? “I think they’re going to use the aggregate scores to determine which team is the top and which is the bottom. Cohesiveness will factor in regardless of how a look might be judged on its own. Isn’t that how it’s usually done?” Bela nodded.

“I don’t have any other fabric,” Dean pointed out.

“I have plenty of leftover green.”

“So what’m I supposed to do, just make a green sweater? Tim said I have to think about more than color.”

“Maybe don’t make a sweater.”

“You should do an oversized tunic,” Bela suggested. “Something flowy like the maxi dress and caftan.”

“Fine,” Dean grumbled. He didn’t feel like arguing with both Bela and Hannah, and they were right: he did have immunity. He could do whatever the hell he wanted and still be here for the next challenge.

The final challenge that would determine who went to Fashion Week.

He let that sink in.

Shit. He was _so close_ to Fashion Week. To reaching the finals.

To being in the _top friggin’ three._

_Holy fuck._

He’d never dreamed he could make it that far, but now it seemed feasible.

And now that he knew it was possible, he wanted it.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Castiel: Tim liked our idea of a swimsuit collection, but he said we needed to make our designs more cohesive. Unfortunately, we cannot agree on how to proceed._

_Hannah: Tim said Bela and I were in good shape. I didn’t necessarily think that Dean’s design clashed with the other two, but Tim did, and we should listen to him. Dean was stubborn, but Bela and I finally managed to convince him to alter his plans._

xxxxxxxxxx

When they got back to the apartment, Cas claimed the shower first. Dean conceded the next shower to Cole and waited for Cas to finish. He needed to tell him what he’d shared with Sam. He hadn’t had Cas’s permission to discuss their situation with his brother, so he was nervous. He attempted to use the time to gather his courage, but with little success.

Cas slipped into the bedroom as he was still toweling off his hair. When his back was to Dean, he watched him, hypnotized by the dripping strands, the long, slender fingers running through them.

Dean reclined on his bed, laying his head on his clasped hands, hoping that would calm his anxiety. It didn’t. “Hey, Cas?” Dean ventured after Cas had folded his towel and stowed it away.

“Hmm?” Cas hummed without turning around.

“Can I talk to you about somethin’?”

“Of course.” Cas perched on his bed and finally faced Dean. “What is it?”

“So . . . my brother. Sam.”

“Yes?”

“I sorta told him we have a thing.”

Cas squinted, confused. “You did?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry if that wasn’t okay . . . Just. I didn’t want him be surprised by it when the episodes start airing. Um. Is that all right?”

“Yes, Dean.” Cas frowned, fidgeting with his fingers. “May I ask you something?”

“Go for it.”

Cas glanced up at Dean, expression boyishly vulnerable. “Do you truly like me?”

Dean hesitated for a moment, confused by Cas’s question. “Yeah.”

“This is not one of those false relationships one sees on reality shows? What are they called? There’s a term for them.”

“A showmance?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“No. Why would you think that?”

“I . . . ” Cas flushed. “You must grow weary of me questioning your motives. I apologize.”

“No, Cas, I . . . please don’t ever be afraid to share anything with me. What is it? What’s bothering you?”

“I still do not understand why you . . . ” Cas swallowed, and his eyes began to water. “Why you would like me. I’ve never been well-liked. Even within . . . even when I was growing up. Balthazar said I was odd. He tried to help me mask it, but I could never master the concept.” Cas sighed.

“How many times do I have to tell you Balthazar’s a douche?”

Cas smiled wistfully. “I know. I just . . . I do not want to get too attached if you do not wish for it.” He paused to lick his lips, which was distracting. “I grow attached so easily,” he breathed.

Dean understood. A guy as alone as Cas . . . If he were in his shoes, he’d get attached, too. Hell, Dad always complained that Dean was a sissy, that he cared too much, too deeply. Loyalty, yes, Dad valued that, but emotion made you a wuss.

Yeah, Dean could also get attached too quickly and too easily. He’d been hurt in the past because he valued a relationship more than someone else did. He’d learned to hide the soft side of himself, to guard his heart, to appear tough even when he knew was about to break.

Dean approached Cas, sat on the bed next to him, and cradled his hand between both of his own. “So do I, Cas,” Dean confessed softly. “So do I.”

Cas’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Dean pressed a kiss to Cas’s knuckles. “I wish you could trust me.”

Cas shrank back. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Dean grinned. “I’ll just have to earn your trust.” He wrapped a hand around Cas’s. “I’m sorry you’ve been hurt so much in the past.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Still. No one should have to go through that crap.”

Cas tilted his head to the side, listening. “I believe Cole has finished with the shower.”

Dean allowed him to change the subject. He wasn’t comfortable with talking about feelings and shit, either. “Awesome.” He stood up. “Guess I better get cleaned up.”

xxxxxxxxxx

_Bela: Dean’s scrambling to finish his look. He better get his act together . . . if we’re in the bottom because of him, I’ll slap him._

_Charlie: I love our group’s designs. I think they’ll impress the judges._

xxxxxxxxxx

As Dean was putting the final touches on the capris, he accidentally ripped the fabric. Fuck. And he hadn’t even started the tunic yet.

Only a few hours remained until the runway show, and he had to begin back at square one.

“Dammit,” Dean hissed.

Hannah glanced up, worried. “What is it, Dean?” Dean nodded at the ruined capris. “Oh, that sucks. I’m sorry.”

“What?” Bela demanded as she returned from the sewing machine room. “What’s wrong?” Her eyes followed Hannah’s gaze. “Shit, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean mumbled.

“I swear, if this puts us in the bottom—”

“We’re not gonna be in the bottom,” Dean snapped. That was probably a lie, but he’d say anything to keep Bela from nagging him.

“We better not. Get to work.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, ’cause I was plannin’ on just sittin’ on my ass here.”

“That means no making out with your boyfriend.”

“Cas and I would not—”

Bela grinned devilishly. “So he is your boyfriend.”

Dean reddened. “Shut up.”

“Don’t let him distract you.”

“He’s not gonna—”

“You two’ve been mooning over each other for the past few days.—”

“Bela,” Hannah interjected. “Leave him in peace to work.”

“Thank you,” Dean huffed.

“Whatever.” Bela stomped away. To where, Dean didn’t care.

Dean set a frenetic pace, determined to complete both pieces by runway time. When Cas asked if he wanted to join him and Charlie for lunch, he declined despite his rumbling tummy. Cas must’ve heard it, though, because he brought Dean a granola bar twenty minutes later.

“Thanks,” Dean muttered without looking up from his design.

“You are welcome,” Cas replied before shuffling off.

As runway time crept perilously close, Dean started panicking. There was no way he was gonna finish in time. Luckily, Hannah offered him a helping hand, for which he was more than grateful, and everything was completed in the nick of time.

Today’s guest judge was fashion designer Fergus Crowley, who scowled when Heidi introduced him. Crowley’s aesthetic was too hoity-toity for Dean’s tastes, and from his sullen expression, he didn’t appear to be a pleasant person, either.

Dean watched as their group’s designs walked the runway. Since she sported the morning look, Cassie strolled down first. He thought the tunic might be a little too loose, and he spotted a few frayed strings hanging from the hem. He hoped the judges didn’t notice. The white capris were rumpled, too.

Hannah’s model came next, the white caftan floating like a dream. At the end of the runway, she untied the belt so that the caftan hung open, revealing the green swimsuit underneath. The whole thing was impeccably crafted.

Finally, Bela’s model showed off her ombre dress, whose bottom half was pleated. The top was lavender, and the color underwent various gradations until it reached a deep dark purple at the hem. Much as he hated to admit it, the dress was breathtaking.

The Three C’s sent down three swimsuit ensembles. The first model wore a green cloak that reminded Dean of Zelda. When she threw open the cloak, she revealed a two-piece bathing suit comprised of shiny gold and silver puzzle pieces. Obviously, Charlie had designed that one.

The next model showed off a sheer cover-up overlaying a one-piece, one-shoulder swimsuit composed of horizontal red and blue stripes. For some reason, the whole thing made Dean think of the military. Must be Cole’s.

Anna ended the runway show, sporting a black one-piece with sheer black fabric covering the belly button. The swimsuit included a lattice back, imbuing it with a touch of elegance. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, emphasizing the bathing suit’s back.

After the runway show, Heidi announced, “The team with the higher scores will be the top, and the other team will be the bottom. The winner will come from the high-scoring team, and someone from the losing team will be out.

“Hannah, Bela, Dean. Your team is on the top.” Thank God. Bela couldn’t blame him for dragging the team down. “Cole, Castiel, and Charlie, that means you three are on the bottom. We will talk to the winning team first.” Her eyes darted to Hannah, Bela, and Dean. “Please tell us about your looks and who did what.”

Dean knew Bela would start speaking right away, so he didn’t even try to answer.

“We wanted to create three looks for a woman to wear throughout the day,” Bela answered. “Dean designed this morning outfit with the tunic and capris, Hannah did the swimsuit and caftan, and I did the ombre dress.”

“Dean, you’re lucky you’re on the winning team.”

“And that you have immunity,” Naomi added.

“Oh,” Dean said dumbly.

“This looks like something for the senior resort, not the fashion-forward customer,” Heidi opined. Ugh. And he’d made the outfit only because Bela and Hannah had insisted he change his design.

“Yes. I think I could find something like that inside Talbot’s,” Zachariah declared, shuddering in disgust. Dean restrained his urge to chuckle.

“Not to mention that the seams are sloppy,” Naomi added. “And there are still bits of thread hanging off of the bottom.”

“I could make something like this in thirty minutes,” Crowley claimed. “And this is all you can do in two days? I’m questioning your skills here. That tunic is too big on her. It swallows her body. Reminds me of Jonah and the whale.” The other judges and Bela laughed. God, it wasn’t _that_ funny.

“Hannah, Bela,” Heidi continued. “We loved both of your looks. Bela, the ombre effect is flawlessly executed in that maxi dress. Hannah, your swimsuit is sexy without being slutty. Great job, both of you.”

“You artfully manipulated that fabric, Bela,” Zachariah put in. “Those pleats are perfect, and the ombre . . . it’s ethereal.

“Hannah, that caftan is exquisite. A one-piece swimsuit seems rather conservative, but this one emphasizes your model’s body in all the right places.”

“Personally, I like a conservative swimsuit,” Naomi commented. “They’ve all but disappeared recently, and it’s a shame. Sometimes less is more, as you’ve shown here, Hannah. It’s sexier than having the woman’s butt hanging out in a thong.

“Bela, I’m sure many women would kill for that dress. I can’t find a defect in it anywhere; I’m impressed that you could sew such a complex design so quickly without making any mistakes.”

“I’m afraid my tastes differ from those of resident prude Naomi here,” Crowley stated. Naomi glared at him. “I don’t think that swimsuit has enough sex appeal, Hannah. It looks like it belongs in the 1940s with trips to the soda fountain and corny big band standards. I like the caftan, but I was expecting more when your model revealed what was underneath.

“Bela, your maxi dress is satisfactory. Maxi dresses don’t work well with many body types; I wish you’d done something with more universal appeal. Ombre can be a cliché, but you’ve given it a rich enough definition to make it pleasing here.”

Jeez, if Crowley had this much negative stuff to say about the winners, what would he tell the losing team?

“Let’s talk about the team with the losing scores,” Heidi resumed. “Cole, Charlie, Castiel, please tell us about your looks.”

The Three C’s eyed each other, none of them wanting to hog the spotlight. Charlie chewed her lip nervously, and Cas picked at a hangnail. Eventually, Cole turned toward the judges and expounded, “We wanted to create a swimsuit collection. Something like you might find in a boutique, perhaps.” He gestured at the one-shouldered swimsuit. “This one is mine. I went for a classical, clean look with one strap to give it a modern edge. I thought the sheer cover-up would be tantalizing. Charlie, Castiel, would you guys like to describe your looks?”

“Sure,” Charlie jumped in when Cas appeared hesitant to go next. “I decided to make something for the modern gaming girl. There are so few options for people like us out there . . . we want to look good while expressing our personality, y’know? Be sexy without advertising ourselves as sex objects. The Zelda cloak is a splash of fun, and so are the puzzle pieces.”

After a second, Cas chimed in. “I chose a sophisticated route. I wanted to design something fashionable but functional.”

“These pieces do not look like they go together,” Zachariah opined. “That’s the biggest issue here.”

“Charlie, that Zelda cloak?” Naomi said. “It appeals to a niche market, but that market is too narrow for this to work in the fashion world. I do like the bling-bling on the puzzle pieces.”

“I like the Zelda cloak,” Heidi contradicted.

“Really? That does not seem like your style.”

“It isn’t, but it’s something different. You took a risk, Charlie, and I like that.”

“Yes, we do appreciate risks here,” Zachariah agreed. “But not all risks are worth pursuing. That swimsuit, that is a risk that pays off. The puzzle pieces are eye-catching. But that cloak . . . that is one risk that didn’t pay off.”

“No one’s going to be gaming at the beach, darling,” Crowley drawled. “Save the cosplay for Comic-Con. Geekery might be the thing these days in some circles, but not in the fashion arena. I’m not sure if you have the taste level for this industry.”

Charlie’s expression hardened even as her eyes grew unsure. Crowley had just dissed her aesthetic, and Dean understood why she would feel both offended and discouraged.

“Castiel, I adore the back of your swimsuit,” Heidi moved on. “But your teammates . . . they were able to create a cover-up for their swimsuits. Why didn’t you?”

“I’m afraid I ran out of time,” Castiel replied. “The back of the suit took a long time to create.”

“You should have used your time more wisely,” Zachariah chastised. “Now you’ve got barely anything to show for two days of work.”

“This sheer overlay in the middle of the suit . . . I find it distasteful,” Naomi declared. “Her back is sexy, though. I like the intricate hairstyle you gave her, how it complements the back of the suit.”

“This look is certainly bare compared to the others,” Crowley ended with. “I hate the back. No one’s going to be paying enough attention to notice all the detail you put into it.”

“Cole,” Heidi continued. “That swimsuit is too simple. There’s nothing special about it. The cover-up feels kind of pointless, too.”

“The one-shouldered look is _so_ passe,” Zachariah added. “And the cover-up is obscuring the vibrant red and blue of those stripes.”

“I actually like this,” Naomi declared. “The swimsuit has a timeless quality to it, but unfortunately, that cover-up ruins the effect.”

“I’m indifferent to that cover-up,” Crowley concluded. “It’s just blah really. But that swimsuit . . . yeesh. She looks like a sailor and a cavewoman at the same time.” The judges snickered.

“Okay, we’ve heard what you have to say,” Heidi announced when the judges had settled down. “Please wait in the lounge while we deliberate.”

After everyone sank into their seats, they discussed theories on who would be out. To Dean, Cole seemed to be in the most danger. Cas and Charlie had both won at least one previous challenge, and the judges had called Cole out on his military shtick before. But you never knew what the judges were thinking. They’d tried to eliminate Cas after his first mistake, after all, whereas they’d given Dean two chances to prove himself.

Dean had almost drifted off by the time the judges called them back to the runway. He wasn’t worried about his fate, but he crossed his fingers for Cas.

“One of you will be the winner, and one of you will be out. Bela,” Heidi called. “Congratulations. You are the winner of this challenge!”

Bela clapped her hands to her mouth. “Oh, thank you!”

After she left the runway, Heidi pronounced Hannah and Dean in. A minute later, Cas followed them backstage. When Charlie and Cole arrived in the lounge, Charlie’s eyes were wet.

“Are you out?” Hannah asked her.

Charlie shook her head. “No.” She reddened. “But they said it was close. I’m sorry, Cole. You deserve to be here more than me.”

“You’ve got that right,” Bela muttered under her breath. Dean whipped around to glower at her, and she fixed Dean with wide, innocent doe eyes. _Oh, spare me._ Luckily, it seemed that no one else had heard her remark.

“No, Charlie,” Cole replied. “You are talented. I’m glad you get to stay.”

Tim came to instruct Cole to pack up his workspace, and Cole wished everyone good luck before he left.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Cole: I had fun here. Yeah, it was challenging, but it was worth it. I learned so much. I was fortunate to get to compete with this talented group of designers . . . I look forward to seeing their work evolve. It sucks that I didn’t make it to Fashion Week, but sixth place ain’t bad._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talbot's is a department store. No relation to Bela.


	9. Avant Garde Inspiration

_Bela: I can’t believe Cole is out. Other than me, he was the best designer left. It should’ve been Charlie with her stupid nerd aesthetic or that copycat Castiel._

_Hannah: Cole is very talented. His elimination was shocking, and it underscores how close we are to the end. There are so few of us left . . . Everyone who’s still here is a great designer, and any little mistake can cost you._

_Charlie: This challenge will determine who goes to Fashion Week. It would really suck to get this far just to be cut at the last minute._

xxxxxxxxxx

As they readied themselves for bed, Dean pointed out to Cas, “You know, tomorrow’s the last challenge until the finale.”

Cas considered Dean’s words for a minute before replying. “Yes, it is. Only three of us will be moving on.”

“Four.”

Cas tilted his head to the side in what Dean had come to see as a characteristic action of his. “Four?”

“Yeah, maybe. Y’know, in the last few seasons, they’ve passed on four people.”

Four designers. If Bela got eliminated during this challenge, then he could go to Fashion Week with Hannah, Charlie, and Cas.

Sounded awesome.

But Bela would most likely would make it to Fashion Week. She’d won two challenges, after all, which made her a strong contender.

Dean had also won two challenges, but that didn’t mean he would move on. He remembered the disastrous first challenges, and the judges hadn’t liked his stuff during the last challenge. Then again, his latest design hadn’t been his, not really.

The first win had been because he was teamed with Cas, and the second—well, Cas should’ve won that one. They’d probably picked Dean to create suspense and make Cas seem less like a guaranteed victor.

Would Cas win? He should, but Dean hadn’t always agreed with who the judges had chosen in previous seasons.

He just hoped he’d get to Fashion Week, but he doubted he would.

Cas frowned. “Dean, what’re you thinking?”

“Nothing,” Dean answered.

“Are you sure? You look troubled.”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

“Hell, yeah, I’m nervous. Aren’t you?”

“Of course.” Cas smiled reassuringly. “But you will do wonderfully, Dean.”

“I dunno ’bout that. You’ll kick ass, I’m sure.”

Cas crawled underneath his covers, and Dean perched on the edge of Cas’s bed, tentatively grasping at his fingertips.

Cas’s eyes drifted closed. “Mmm,” he murmured. “I’m tired.”

Dean kissed him on the temple then panicked, wondering what had possessed him to make such an intimate gesture. Luckily, with his eyes shut, Cas couldn’t see the emotions flitting across his face. “G’night, Cas,” he said before releasing Cas’s hand and standing up.

“Good night, Dean,” Cas replied.

Tucked into his own bed, Dean slipped into sleep, warm and content.

xxxxxxxxxx

“Welcome to your last challenge,” Heidi greeted them on the runway, Tim beside her. “How does it feel to make it this far?”

“Awesome!” Dean and Charlie shouted simultaneously. They glanced at each other and giggled while Bela rolled her eyes.

“Your next challenge will last two days. Your mission is to design an avant garde look inspired by something in New York City. We have taxis waiting for each of you outside. They will take you around the city, and you should take photographs of whatever catches your eye.”

Tim reached for a box lying at his feet and passed out cameras to everyone.

Dean didn’t know where to direct his taxi driver to go, so he just let the dude navigate wherever, occasionally telling him to stop when he spotted something he wanted to photograph. He was transfixed by the sight of rows of fire escapes lining a wall of an old tall brick building. He took several pictures of that. He liked how they looked, but it didn’t feel like it should guide his vision.

Then he saw what truly inspired him.

There was this kickass graffiti on a crumbling wall, swirls of blues and reds and oranges composing abstract astral patterns.

If he could incorporate the fire escapes, the dizzying array of the stairs along with those patterns on the wall, he might be able to create something extraordinary.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Bela: What’s the most inspiring thing in New York? Times Square, duh._

_Hannah: I chose Central Park as my inspiration. That huge space of greenery in the crowded city . . . I love it._

_Castiel: I have always been fascinated by the architecture of St. Patrick’s Cathedral._

_Charlie: The Brooklyn Bridge is iconic. I could stare at it for hours. [sighs dreamily]_

xxxxxxxxxx

Inside Mood, Dean grabbed various blue, red, and orange fabrics then added black for good measure.

At the cash register, he wound up next to Charlie and Cas. Charlie eyed his fabrics with interest. “Wow. You’re really embracing the color,” she commented. “I like it.”

“Your fabric is very bright,” Cas agreed. “What is your inspiration?”

Dean flushed. He hadn’t picked anything famous on which to base his design, as everyone else probably had. Would they think he was stupid?

“Um . . . ” Dean mumbled. “Mostly graffiti.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Graffiti?”

“Yeah. I know it sounds dumb.”

“Not at all. Frankly, I wish I had thought to make an unobvious choice like that.”

Charlie nodded. “Me, too.”

Dean did a double take. “Seriously? You’re not just tryin’ to make me feel better?”

Cas donned a mischievous smile. “You know I would not hesitate to tell you if I hated your ideas.”

Yeah, he remembered that Cas could be brutally honest when he wanted to. “True.” He glanced at the bolts of ivory in Cas’s hands. “What’d you pick?”

“St. Patrick’s Cathedral.”

“A _church_?”

“It’s not just any church, Dean. Have you ever seen St. Patrick’s Cathedral?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“I will show you my photographs when we return to the workroom. Though I believe you must see it in person to get the full effect . . . Maybe I will take you there sometime.”

_When?_ He thought of asking the question, but it would be awkward. He didn’t want to think about what would happen to them once the season ended. The notion made him sad. What if he never saw Cas after _Project Runway_? What if Dean had grown attached only because there weren’t many other people to talk to? What if _Cas_ liked Dean only because there weren’t many other people here?

Charlie tapped him on the shoulder, jerking him out of his reverie. “What?” he snapped.

She waved at the checkout counter. “It’s your turn.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

As promised, Cas passed his camera to Dean once they were back in the workroom. A few photographs displayed the enormity of the cathedral, but there were also many shots of small details on the doors, spires, and windows. When he considered everything together, it was breathtaking, even if he wasn’t normally a fan of churches.

“Wow, Cas,” Dean commented as he handed the camera back to Cas, “this place is pretty awesome.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Cas replied cheekily, but his gentle demeanor betrayed how important Dean’s approval actually was to him. “May I look at your photographs?”

“Sure,” Dean responded, tossing his camera to Cas. “Don’t expect anything exciting.”

“Intriguing subjects,” Cas declared as he flipped through Dean’s pictures.

“I know they’re not as impressive as yours.”

“Perhaps most people would say so. It does take a certain eye to appreciate the beauty of these elements. The perspective of a true artist. That is a wonderful asset to have, Dean. I cannot wait to see what you design.”

“Thanks,” Dean murmured, reddening again. Cas had just heaped a bunch of praise on him, and he didn’t know how to respond. He liked that Cas understood why he felt inspired. It meant a lot to him.

Cas’s opinion was just as important to him as his was to Cas.

How had they come to this point?

xxxxxxxxxx

This design would be complex; Dean hoped he had enough time to do justice to his idea. But if there was a time to take a gamble, this was it. He was gonna do what it took to get to the finale.

Then again, if he mismanaged his time, or if he made any mistakes, he could say goodbye to Fashion Week.

Earlier, he’d completed a rough sketch without thinking about the color scheme. Now, he brainstormed about color. The staircases he’d incorporated into lines on the sides of the jumpsuit; he’d make those black. He would cut the fabric into irregular shapes and use it to create patches to sew together for the rest of the garment. But he still needed to add some edge to the design. After all, he didn’t want it to look like a patchwork quilt or some child’s art project.

How about instead of the lines on the side, he used the black fabric to create a harness? He’d shape it so it was reminiscent of the fire escapes.

Okay, that sounded better, but he had to be careful—he didn’t want it to look like a BDSM costume.

He spent the whole day working, barely pausing to take a lunch break. He received an excellent critique from Tim, which provided him with further motivation to achieve his vision. He didn’t even glance at what the other designers were working on until time was called for the day. Everyone else’s looked amazing . . . the competition would be stiff.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Hannah: Tim liked my design so far, but he said I was being too literal with the vines. But I like the vines, having these strips of green fabric winding around my model’s arms. I have to decide whether to cut them out or not, and it’s tough._

_Bela: I want to create a pastiche that is reminiscent of the ordered chaos of Times Square. Tim_ loved _the idea. [smirks] I think I’m gonna win this one._

xxxxxxxxxx

Back at the apartment, Dean and Cas sank onto the couch and chatted for a few minutes even though it was after midnight. Dean was too wound up to go straight to sleep, and from the anxious energy Cas exuded, it seemed he felt the same way.

Dean grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge. The drinks would help them relax just a smidge, as long as they each had only one. He passed one to Cas as he thought about what he’d seen of Cas’s design earlier that day.

“Dude, you’re making one of those goiter necks, aren’t you?” Dean alleged.

Cas blushed. “Yes.” Dean opened his mouth, but Cas held up a hand to preempt him. “I know that you do not like high collars—”

“Damn right I don’t,” Dean muttered.

“—but it has a purpose.”

Dean snorted. “What, to be a frickin’ cliché? Cas, if you’re doin’ what’s expected, you’re putting yourself at risk for elimination—” Dean wanted to go to Fashion Week, but he knew Cas deserved it more. He was hella talented, and if his stupid collar cost him a spot, it’d be a tragedy.

“—It has a purpose,” Cas reiterated.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes. I haven’t finished it yet, so you can’t tell, but it won’t be like the usual high collars. It’s supposed to mimic the architecture of the spires on the cathedral.”

“Oh.” Dean frowned. “You sure that’s not too literal?”

“You are using all of the colors from the graffiti. Is that too literal?”

Dean chewed on his lip as he contemplated the question. Maybe he was being too literal. Shit.

Cas patted him on the shoulder and offered up a small smile. “The answer is no, Dean. Please stop worrying about it.”

“I can’t,” Dean confessed.

Cas squeezed his shoulder. “I understand. I am nervous, too.”

Dean suddenly had a wicked thought. He leaned in closer to Cas and whispered, “Why don’t we release a little stress, huh?”

Cas appeared as clueless as ever. “What do you mean?”

Dean dragged his lips over Cas’s neck. “’d you notice that we have the apartment to ourselves, hmm?” They should take advantage of the privacy. He couldn’t wait to explore Cas with his lips, acquaint himself further with Cas’s mouth.

“Yes.” Cas released a ragged breath when Dean bit down on his neck. Dean laved his tongue over the spot to soothe it.

“So we can do whatever we want,” Dean murmured in the juncture between Cas’s shoulder and neck. “Wherever we want.” They could make out on the couch now that no one else was present.

“Oh.” Cas pushed Dean away and kept him at arm’s length, examining him and shrinking away by degrees. “Are you proposing that we have sex?”

“Jesus, Cas!” Dean spluttered. Why would he believe Dean wanted to jump so quickly to sex? What about exchanging a few leisurely kisses first?

Cas lowered his eyes in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I just . . .” His eyes filled with tears, and he looked at Dean, frightened. “I’m sorry; please don’t be mad at me—”

“Mad? I’m not mad.”

“I didn’t mean to say something stupid; I’m sorry—I’m _so sorry_ —”

“Cas, I’m not mad.”

“I know I can be an imbecile and—”

“Cas, stop!” Dean snapped without thinking. He cursed himself when Cas flinched. “Cas, please stop,” Dean begged in a softer voice, rubbing a hand over Cas’s thigh. “No one’s mad here.”

“Oh.” Cas blinked. “I’m sorry—I don’t know what got into me—”

But they both knew what it had been. Balthazar.

“It’s all right . . . and no, we don’t have to have sex,” Dean replied. Cas sagged in relief. “I wasn’t even thinkin’ ’bout that.”

“Christ, I don’t just jump straight into bed with people.” Sure, he’d had his share of bar hookups, but with a person he cared about, he liked to wait.

“You don’t?”

“It’s too soon, isn’t it?”

Cas tilted his head to the side, bewildered. “It is?”

The implications of Cas’s statement, his tone, rubbed Dean’s heart raw. It _had_ to be something to do with Balthazar. It was the only previous relationship Cas had ever had.

Balthazar had pressured Cas into having sex when he wasn’t ready, told him some bullshit about how it was expected of him or something—

Dean balled his hands into fists as he imagined the scenario.

“Dean?” Cas pleaded. “I’m sorry; I did not mean to anger you—”

Dean realized his fury must be evident to Cas. He relaxed his body and unclenched his fists. “Nah, Cas. You didn’t make me mad. Sorry.”

“For what?”

“For . . . ” What could he say? “For makin’ you think I was.” He wrapped an arm around Cas’s shoulders and pulled him close, their bodies flush against each other. “It’s all right. We’re all right.” Underneath his hand, Cas’s biceps were tense, but they gradually loosened as Dean massaged the spot. After a few minutes, he buried his nose in Cas’s hair, inhaling him.

It was peaceful, and when they had been almost lulled into sleep, they stumbled toward the bedroom and collapsed onto their beds.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Charlie: My first thought was to add in ribbons between the shoulders, arms, and legs, something to mimic a suspension bridge, but that’s too obvious. Tim agreed with me. Instead, I think I’m gonna make a hairpiece with similar lines._

xxxxxxxxx

On the second day of the challenge, Dean was just as focused as he had been the day before. Around the workroom, he observed Hannah growing increasingly frustrated. He didn’t know why; her outfit looked fine. Eventually, Hannah rushed off into the breakroom, looking as if she was on the verge of tears. Dean couldn’t be sure, but he thought he spotted Bela tittering behind her hand. Wouldn’t surprise him. _Bitch_.

Dean wanted to help Hannah, keep her from cracking under the pressure. Apparently, Charlie and Cas had the same thought, as they both dashed toward the breakroom as well.

“Hannah?” Charlie ventured. “Are you all right?”

Hannah was sitting at a table, head in her hands.

“I’ll be fine,” Hannah sniffled. Dean, Cas, and Charlie glanced at each other, unconvinced, before joining Hannah at the table.

Charlie placed a hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “Wanna talk about it?” Hannah shook her head.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Cas asked.

“It’s just this damn competition,” Hannah sobbed, removing her hands slowly and revealing a splotchy, tear-stained face. “It’s getting to me.”

“Yeah, I understand,” Dean assured her.

“I’m so _tired_ , and I get weepy when I’m tired. Sorry.”

“We’re all tired,” Charlie said. “Seriously, would it hurt them to let us have more than like four hours of sleep a night?” Hannah giggled, and Charlie grinned. “Hey, got you to smile.”

Hannah wiped her nose. “I’m not sure how much more I can take.”

“C’mon, we’ve just got this one last challenge.”

“Then there’s Fashion Week. Don’t get me wrong . . . I want to go to Fashion Week. But there’ll be so much pressure, and . . . well, I didn’t think I’d actually get this far.”

“Me, neither,” Dean interjected. “But now that I’m here, am I gonna give everything I’ve got to try to get there?—hell, yeah.”

“So am I. I think I just needed a time out.” She offered a wan smile to the other three designers. “Thanks, guys. You’re amazing.”

Charlie beamed. “I know.”

“I mean it. I never thought I’d make such great friends here.”

Once Hannah had regained her composure, they returned to the workroom.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Bela: Everyone else here is so ridiculous. Hannah ran off into the workroom crying. Boohoo. If you can’t handle the pressure, you don’t deserve to be here. And everyone else ran after her even though they still have work to do. [rolls eyes] Priorities, people._

_Castiel: Hannah needed to take a short break. I empathize. If Dean wasn’t here, I could imagine myself behaving in a similar fashion. [blushes, eyes crinkle] It sounds rather silly, I know, that Dean’s presence has helped me that much, but it’s true._

xxxxxxxxxx

As usual, runway time came too soon, but Dean was ready. Today’s guest judge was model Sarah Blake, who seemed sweet when she waved hello to the designers.

Hannah’s model walked first, sporting a brown short-sleeved, knee-length dress dappled with spots of green. Strips of green wound around the model’s arms and legs, reminding Dean of vines and tree branches.

Anna strutted down the runway next, her outfit consisting of skin-tight pants and a poncho made of ivory silk. There seemed to be subtle variations in the shades of white, but Dean wasn’t sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him. The dirtiest whites appeared in strips around the shoulders, wrists, ankles, and lower back, while the medium whites covered the stomach, upper back, and knees. And of course, the poncho had that high collar, which contained all three gradations of white and three spikes of various lengths, the tallest next to Anna’s cheek. Dean didn’t know whether he liked it or not, but there was a visceral quality to it.

Charlie’s design came next. Her model’s hair had been braided and looped around an intricate hairpiece made of sharply angular black wires. The garment itself was a jumpsuit with pentagons, hexagons, squares and triangles in black and white with occasional pops of color, including a spot of yellow on one wrist, a splash of green over the breastbone, and a dab of blue trailing in drops from one knee to an ankle. Shit, it was amazing. She deserved to win the challenge for sure. The only problem might be that Dean had created a jumpsuit as well, and his also had patches of color. Hers was more ordered, though. Still, Dean hoped the judges didn’t find their designs too similar.

Speak of the devil. Here was Cassie strolling down the runway now. The harness seemed to cage her in, which hadn’t been Dean’s intent. Then again, when he thought about it, a panoramic view of all those fire escapes did kind of remind him of prison bars.

Bela’s model walked last, showing off a knee-length, long-sleeved dress color-blocked in black and white with the clichéd black cowl. It wasn’t exactly avant garde. It seemed that Bela had played it safe, which wasn’t like her. She had enough talent to do better than that. Maybe she just didn’t have the temperament to design something avant garde. Out of the remaining designers, she seemed to be the most commercial.

“Bravo,” Heidi told the designers when they lined up on the runway afterward. “That was our best runway show yet. Let’s talk about your designs and what inspired them. Castiel, we’ll start with you.”

“I was inspired by St. Patrick’s Cathedral,” Castiel replied. “The spires gave me the idea for the collar, and I took the color from the walls themselves.”

“I don’t know what to say about this. It looks a little dirty. Is some of that fabric more off-white than other parts, or is that my imagination?” _Good question, Heidi_.

“No. I did use three different whites. I wanted to mimic the effect weather has had on the structure’s exterior.”

“Interesting. I’m still not sure if I like it or not.”

“It’s highly conceptual,” Zachariah opined. “I love how much thought you put into this, Castiel. And I do think it is the most avant garde piece up there.”

“That it is,” Naomi agreed. “Like Heidi, I don’t know if I like it or not, but that’s not the point of avant garde. It’s supposed to make you question your reality, experience something out of your comfort zone. It makes you _think_ , and your design is successful in that regard.”

“I actually really love this,” Sarah added. “I like the idea that I have to think twice about what I’m seeing. You took the tired high-collar concept and made it your own.”

“Charlie, please tell us about your inspiration and how it relates to your look,” Heidi prompted.

“I chose the Brooklyn Bridge,” Charlie answered. “This hairpiece is inspired by the suspension wires, and the shapes are symbolic representations of the bridge’s structure. The dashes of color are there to illustrate the vibrancy of the city.”

“I have to say, I think this is my favorite outfit today. You also put a lot of thought into your design.”

“Yes, we always appreciate that,” Zachariah put in. “That hairpiece is ingenious, Charlie. It’s unique, as is your jumpsuit. I like the idea of shapes representing structure.”

“It’s frenetic yet chaotic at the same time,” Naomi declared. “A perfect representation of the city and the traffic on the bridge, I’m sure.”

“This is so well-put together,” Sarah concluded. “I’m in awe of it.”

“Dean, please tell us about your look and your inspiration,” Heidi continued.

“I wanted to combine the visual effects of a fire escape and some graffiti I saw. The harness comes from the fire escapes, and the colors from the graffiti. I tried to make something that would be like fashion graffiti.”

“Well, the jumpsuit definitely reminds me of graffiti. The harness seems in bad taste, though.”

“Yes, that harness has got to go,” Zachariah concurred. “It looks like it was thrown in there just to try to be avant garde, not like it has a purpose. But I do like your jumpsuit. It’s well-crafted, too. I’m amazed that it looks so polished.”

“Technically, you broke the rules of the challenge,” Naomi admonished. _Say what?_ “You were supposed to choose _one_ inspiration. You chose two. And the second doesn’t even add anything substantive. Frankly, I find both sources unimaginative.”

_Really?_ And Cas and Charlie had claimed it was creative.

“That harness is kind of distasteful,” Sarah said. “It reminds me of BDSM clubs.” The judges snickered. “It’s a shame that you included that. I would’ve loved this jumpsuit otherwise.”

“Hannah, please tell us about your look and its inspiration,” Heidi moved on.

“I picked Central Park, and I incorporated the greenery into my work.”

“I do like this. She embodies a tree without literally looking like a tree.”

“I disagree,” Zachariah voiced. “I think this is _much_ too literal, what with the vines. But there would’ve been no wow factor without them, so I’m not sure what to think about this design.”

“I feel like this has been done before,” Naomi said. “It would’ve been pretty without the vines, but that’s just it—pretty.”

“Well, I like it,” Sarah ended with. “I always appreciate designs that remind me of nature.”

“Bela, please tell us about your inspiration and your look,” Heidi prompted.

“I chose Times Square. All these squares . . . I got the idea from the billboards that saturate the area, how they practically bump into each other.”

_“Saturate,” eh? Sounds like someone is trying to use big vocabulary to impress._

“It’s cute, and it’s a perfect reflection of your inspiration.”

“This is well-made and original,” Zachariah added. “The hood makes it edgy. Good job.”

Original? Seriously? All Bela had done was make a basic color-blocked dress and tack on a stupid cowl.

“It’s incredibly photogenic,” Naomi opined. “Gorgeous. I love the combination of the cowl with that dress.”

“It is adorable. But I’m not sure if it’s really avant garde,” Sarah chimed in. Finally, someone was speaking sense. He didn’t understand all the praise the other judges were heaping onto Bela’s dress. Too bad Sarah’s feedback probably didn’t count as much as the regular judges’.

“Okay. We’ve heard what you have to say,” Heidi resumed. “As you know, this is the last challenge before Fashion Week. Some of you will advance to the finale, and one or more of you will be out. We want to hear from you. Why do you deserve to go to Fashion Week? Which two designers would you take with you, and why? Castiel. Let’s start with you.”

Castiel took a deep breath. “I come from a rather . . . unusual background. I’ve always enjoyed creative endeavors, and when I discovered the joys of fashion, it was like coming home. I love the designing process. I’d like to show the world that one can come from any background, no matter how peculiar, and succeed.

“As for who I would take with me—Dean has a unique point of view, one not much represented in fashion. And I think Bela is the most skilled and well-rounded designer here.” Bela? Really?

“Thank you, Castiel. Charlie?”

Charlie’s voice shook as she spoke. “Oh. Um. Yes. I have a distinctive point of view. As you know, I’m a nerd and proud of it.” Heidi smiled encouragingly. “Over the past few years, the nerd has risen in popularity, yet geekery is not present in the broader fashion world. I would like to break those barriers.

“Who would I take with me? Let’s see. Dean has an interesting aesthetic, and so does Castiel.”

“Thank you, Charlie. Dean, your turn.”

“Yeah. Uh,” Dean began. _Wow. How eloquent_. “I come from a humble background. Self-taught, not the typical sorta guy you see working in fashion. I think that shows I have something new to say.

“I would take Charlie with me. She works hard, and I think her nerdy designs have widespread appeal. And Castiel is ridiculously talented.”

“Thank you, Dean. Hannah?”

“Fashion wasn’t my first career choice,” Hannah answered. “I went to school for art history, and I planned to work in a museum. I’ve always been drawn to the arts. But fashion . . . it called to me. It is my favorite art form, and I would love to be able to pursue it exclusively.

“Who would I take with me? Hmm. Castiel is a brilliant designer. Bela is probably one of the most accomplished ones here.” Why the fuck was she choosing Bela? Dean had thought she and Charlie were good friends.

“Thank you, Hannah. Bela, how about you?”

“I have wanted to work in fashion since before I was born.” Dean restrained his urge to snort. Could Bela get any more clichéd? “I grew up shopping in elite stores, following everything in the fashion world like boys do with their sports teams. I’ve always known that fashion is it for me. I’ve trained for this, and I’m ready for the big time.

“I would take Castiel with me. He has impeccable technical skills. I would also take—” Her mouth turned down in a moue of distaste as her eyes skipped between the remaining designers. “—Charlie. Her designs are always . . . interesting.” Jeez, she didn’t have to make “interesting” sound like a dirty word.

Out of all people, why would Bela choose _Charlie_? He knew Bela had little respect for any of the designers who were left, including Cas. To her, Cas and Charlie must’ve seemed like the best out of slim pickings.

“Thank you, Bela. Everyone, please wait in the lounge while we deliberate. When you return, one or more of you will be out.”

Backstage, everyone speculated about who would move on to Fashion Week. Hannah was especially worried. No one had named her as someone they would take to Fashion Week. While the judges wouldn’t base most of their decision on who the designers envisioned at Fashion Week, they would take it into account.

Everyone agreed that Cas was probably moving on (although Cas himself wasn’t so sure). All the designers had chosen him as someone to accompany them to Fashion Week, which made him a strong candidate.

The judges had most heavily criticized Dean’s and Hannah’s designs. Dean didn’t like his chances.

After what felt like forever, they were called back to the runway.

“Castiel,” Heidi commenced. “Congratulations! You are the winner of this challenge!”

Cas’s hands flew to his mouth, and he smiled between his fingers. “Oh my gosh. Really?”

“Really. And you’re going to Fashion Week!”

“Wow,” Cas gasped. “Thank you.”

“You may leave the runway.” After Cas had disappeared backstage, Heidi announced, “Bela. Congratulations! You’re on your way to Fashion Week!”

“I’m in?!” Bela screeched. For once, her emotion seemed genuine.

“Yes, you’re in. You may leave the runway.” Bela left the runway; then Heidi declared, “Charlie. You’re in. Congratulations! You’re going to Fashion Week!”

“Awesome!” Charlie enthused, breaking into a huge grin.

“You may leave the runway.” Once Charlie had departed, Heidi turned to the remaining designers. Dean suddenly felt nauseous. “And we’re down to two. This is a hard choice for us. You’re both amazingly talented, and we are torn. But only one of you can advance to Fashion Week.” Oh. Dean still had a chance. “To help us with our decision, we have one more challenge for you. On stage, you will find the final designs of those who have been previously eliminated. You may choose two of them; then you will have one hour to create a new design.” She glanced somewhere behind Dean and Hannah. They whipped around to see what she was looking at: a timer that had been set up for one hour.

Great. Dean should’ve known they were gonna bring up this BS tiebreaker. Figured that he’d have to participate in it.

“And go!” Heidi called.

Dean paid no attention to Hannah, focusing on his own actions. He liked Hannah, but only one of them would advance, and he was determined to do what it took to get to Fashion Week.

Dean chose to cut up Aaron’s and Cole’s designs. From Cole’s red and blue striped swimsuit, he created a miniskirt. He managed to make a crop top from the silver side of Aaron’s gold and silver shorts.

When the timer buzzed, Dean almost collapsed in exhaustion. Cassie came out, and he handed her the outfit. Then she and Hannah’s model showed off the new designs.

Hannah had used Gabriel’s bright pink skirt to make a halter top and Linda’s sequined gown to create a knee-length skirt.

“You both did an excellent job,” Heidi told them afterward. “Dean, your outfit is cute. Hannah, you’ve made something tasteful using elements from two subpar designs.”

“Dean, I love your crop top,” Zachariah opined. “As well as the skirt. That halter top is well-crafted, Hannah. I might have made that skirt a tad shorter.”

“I’m astounded that you both created such wonderful outfits in only an hour,” Naomi put in. “Great job.”

“Me, too,” Sarah agreed. “I could see both of these selling well in stores.”

“Thank you,” Heidi said to Hannah and Dean. “Please wait in the lounge while we deliberate.”

The others jumped to their feet when Hannah and Dean staggered backstage.

“What happened? What took so long?” Charlie asked.

“They haven’t decided yet,” Hannah replied.

“What?!”

“Yeah,” Dean added. “They made us do that thing where you make something in an hour.”

“Oh. That sucks.”

“So one of you will definitely be in,” Bela ventured.

“Probably,” Dean responded. _Please let it be me._

After a while, Dean and Hannah were called back to the runway. “Hannah,” Heidi said. Dean held his breath. “I’m sorry; you’re out.”

Hannah nodded, her eyes filling with tears.

“We’ll miss you.”

Hannah nodded again. “Thank you for the opportunity. I’m so grateful I got to be here.”

“Dean,” Heidi called. “That means you’re in. Congratulations! We’ll see you at Fashion Week.”

Dean gaped at the judges. He couldn’t believe it. _He was going to Fashion Week!_ “Wow,” Dean breathed. “Thanks.”

Backstage, the others gathered around Dean and Hannah.

“I’m out,” Hannah informed them.

Charlie enveloped her in a hug. “I’m sorry.”

“Dean, what about you?” Cas asked.

“Um. I’m in.” Dean reddened. He didn’t want to sound like he was bragging when Hannah was so devastated.

“Congratulations.”

Tim strolled into the lounge. “Hannah,” he pronounced sadly. He embraced her. “We’ll miss you.”

“Thanks,” Hannah mumbled, her voice muffled against Tim’s shoulder.

“You are _so, so_ talented. We’ll hear great things from you.”

“I hope so.”

Tim patted her shoulder. “We will.”

The other designers’ eyes watered. Hell, even Bela looked a little emotional. Hannah pulled back from Tim and smiled at everyone else. “Don’t cry,” she urged. “I’m happy. Really. I got this far.” She wiped her eyes. The remaining four designers drew Hannah into a group hug.

“I’m sorry,” Tim continued after the designers had had their moment, “but Hannah, I have to ask you to clean up your workspace.”

“Okay,” Hannah replied. “Thank you, Tim. I’ll miss you, too.” She turned back to the designers. “All of you. Good luck, guys.”

Now, Dean, Cas, Charlie, and Bela would go home for two months and prepare their collections for Fashion Week.

Amidst his excitement, Dean’s stomach lurched at the thought.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Hannah: [shrugs] I guess I should’ve taken Tim’s advice. The judges didn’t like the vines. But I liked them, and at least I went out on something I can stand behind._

_I’ve met such wonderful people here. I might even have made a few lifelong friends._

_This has been such a great experience. I learned so much, and I’m more sure than ever that fashion is the right career for me._

_I would’ve loved to go to Fashion Week, but someone had to be out. That’s not going to stop me. You’ll be seeing more from me._


	10. Home Visits

When he returned to Lawrence, Dean started planning out his Fashion Week collection right away. He needed a theme first.

_Hillbilly chic_. Zachariah had derisively hurled those words at him during the first challenge. The outfit Dean had created at that time had been hideous, but what if . . .

What if he could take the concept of hillbilly chic and turn it into something stylish and fashion forward?

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea.

Plaid incorporated into most of the looks. Moderated, of course, by the presence of plain colors. He had to keep the designs tasteful, after all.

Once a week, he tuned into the show with his family: Sam, Jess, Bobby, and Dad.

He skyped with Cas regularly.

But mostly he focused on his work.

                                                                    xxxxxxxxxx             

The sixth episode aired shortly before Tim’s scheduled visit. As everyone gathered around the TV at Dad’s, Dean tried to get a handle on his anxiety. This was the episode where he’d kissed Cas, and no one knew what was coming except for Sam and Jess.

How were Dad and Bobby going to react? Dean dreaded the answer.

Sam had argued that Dean should prepare Dad and Bobby for what was coming. Dean had known Sam was right, but he’d chickened out.

“Can I say somethin’?” Dean asked on screen. A minute later, he alleged that Gordon had sabotaged Cas’s design; then Zachariah and Naomi lectured Cas about being more assertive.

“Damn right,” Dad agreed, giving Dean a sharp look. “Why’d you butt your nose into it?”

Dean shrank away from Dad’s disapproving eyes. “Because the judges needed to know what Gordon had done.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “Gordon seems like a great guy. I don’t know why you pushed him away.”

“I didn’t! He turned on me because I became friends with Cas.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what you see in that fag—”

Dean flinched. Sam met his eyes, and he swallowed.

On TV, Gordon announced that he was out, and Dean asked Cas about whether or not he’d been eliminated.

“I’m in—barely,” Cas answered.

“Thank God,” Dean exhaled before plastering his lips to Cas’s.

Dad and Bobby gaped at the TV as the end credits rolled. Dean chewed his bottom lip apprehensively.

Finally, Dad turned to him, eyes baleful. “What the hell were you thinking, boy?!”

Dean shrugged. “I was just happy he was safe.”

“That doesn’t mean you had to kiss him!” After a moment of uneasy silence, Dad snarled, “I raised you better than that, boy. What on earth made you embarrass yourself on _national television_ and _kiss another man_?!”

“I like him,” Dean breathed. He wasn’t sure whether Dad heard him.

“You want everyone thinkin’ you’re a fuckin’ fairy? Huh?”

“Um . . . ”

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you go on that gay show! I swear, I don’t know what your mom was thinkin’ when she taught a _boy_ how to sew.”

“Dad—”

“You better set the record straight, boy. Get up on social media or whatever and let everyone know you’re not gay.”

“But I am bisexual,” Dean dared to say. Liking Cas meant that, didn’t it?

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“I’m bisexual.”

“Bullshit.”

“Cas and I . . . ” Dean felt his cheeks heat up. “We’re in a relationship.”

Dad stared, flabbergasted. “The hell you are. It’s some publicity stunt, right?”

“No. We’re together. For real.”

“Not if you ever wanna talk to me again.”

“What?”

“You’re breaking it off with him.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Dad stood up and thundered, “Then get the hell out of my house!”

“Sit down, John!” Bobby snapped. The authority in his voice must’ve compelled Dad to obey. “Stop bein’ a bigot.”

“Don’t you talk to me like that, Bobby—”

“I’ll talk to you however I damn please! Dean is a grown man, and if he likes this Castiel, then he has a right to be with him.”

“And I have a right never to see him again if he does.”

“I guess. But do you really want this to come between you?”

“Does he?”

Dean gathered the courage to speak. “Bobby’s right, Dad. You didn’t _let_ me go on the show. I chose to go. And I choose Cas, too. If that means I don’t ever get to see you again, I’m sorry. I don’t want that. But I’m also not gonna let your prejudices interfere with what Cas and I have.” He wasn’t sure if he could actually hold to that. He loved Dad so much, but he also liked Cas. A lot. A part of him, deep down, even whispered that Cas could be “the one.”

That was absurd, of course. Who meets their soulmate on a reality show?

But that voice was there nevertheless, quiet but insistent.

“I dunno, Dean,” Dad growled. “I need some time to think about this.”

Dean guessed that was the best he would get out of Dad at the moment. “Okay.”

Everyone left a short time later. Outside, Sam, Jess, and Bobby commiserated with him. They assured him Dad would come around. If not, they vowed to cut ties with Dad.

Dean didn’t want them to do that, but all the same, he appreciated the support.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Tim: First, I visit Charlie in San Francisco five weeks before Fashion Week. I’m eager to see how she’s progressed so far._

_Charlie: Having Tim come to my house is surreal. I reintroduced him to Dorothy, and my LARPing friends came over. We had a medieval-themed dinner. Let me tell you, I never thought I’d see Tim bite into a turkey leg. I feel privileged to have witnessed it first-hand._

_My final collection is total geekery. I’m going all out. Tim was a little dismayed by some of it (giggles), but I love it._

_He gave me some excellent advice, though. He says I should give it more mainstream appeal . . . nerd pride is awesome, but I’ve gotta appeal to a broader audience if I wanna win this thing. So I’m gonna see if I can figure out how to do that._

_I’ve also gotta speed up my process! At this rate, I’m never gonna be finished by the time Fashion Week rolls around. [bites her lip] Somehow I’ll get my act together._

xxxxxxxxxx

Everyone was gathered in Dean’s apartment, where Tim was scheduled to arrive today. He would meet Dean’s family and critique the work Dean had done so far for Fashion Week. Crew members were setting up cameras, making sure everything was ready to film Tim’s entrance.

Dad had reluctantly agreed to accept Dean’s burgeoning relationship with Cas. He clearly still found the notion distasteful, however. Dean didn’t know what was behind Dad’s decision. Did he think the relationship with Cas was for show despite Dean’s protestations to the contrary? Did he just want the chance to be on TV during Tim’s visit?

Dean tried not to examine the matter too closely. Tim’s upcoming arrival was already making him anxious enough.

“I can’t believe we’re going to meet Tim Gunn!” Jess gushed.

“Yeah, it’ll be interesting,” Sam said.

Finally, Tim knocked on the door. Dean threw it open, grinned, and enthused, “Hey, Tim!”

“Good afternoon, Dean,” Tim replied.

Tim followed him into the living room, and Dean gestured at the others. “Meet the Winchester clan!” Dean exclaimed. “You’ve already met Sam.”

Tim shook Sam’s hand. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Sam.”

“Yeah. Same,” Sam muttered, suddenly sounding nervous.

“And this is Jess. His girlfriend.”

“Oh, my God!” Jess squealed as she shook Tim’s hand. “I am such a big fan. You have no idea.”

“Thank you,” Tim replied. “I’m flattered.”

“This is my dad.” Dad and Tim shook hands silently. “And this here’s Uncle Bobby.”

Bobby snorted. “I ain’t a Winchester.”

“But he’s family anyway. Dad and I work at his garage.”

“I must say, that is an unusual job for an aspiring designer,” Tim declared.

“Yeah. He’s does me a solid by lettin’ me hang around,” Dean explained.

After he shook hands with Bobby, Tim commented, “Dean has done remarkably well in the competition. And he’s going to Fashion Week! You must be proud.”

“We sure are,” Bobby agreed. Sam and Jess nodded, but Dad scowled.

“I wish he’d picked somethin’ a little more suitable to do with himself. I don’t see what’s so wrong with him spendin’ the rest of his life at the garage,” Dad grumbled. Bobby, Sam, and Jess glanced at each other uneasily, and Dean reddened.

“Dean is very talented,” Tim asserted. “He has a distinctive point of view to share with the fashion world.”

Dad snorted. “The fashion world’s for sissies. It’s already turned my son into a fag.”

If Dean had thought his face couldn’t get any hotter, he was wrong. Had Dad just come here to embarrass him? Did he have no qualms about pronouncing the slur on national television, not to mention throwing it in Tim’s face? Dean was mortified. Tim was gay. He’d never seen Tim lose his cool, but he wouldn’t be surprised if Tim blew up at Dad.

“Dad,” Dean hissed.

“What?” Dad replied.

“I didn’t start dating Cas just ’cause of the show.”

“’Course you did. That’s where you met him, ain’t it?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah. But the show didn’t turn me gay. I would’ve liked Cas no matter where I’d met him.” Not at first, sure, but if Cas had been working at the garage, for example, he would’ve gradually become attracted to the guy as he learned more about him.

“You never liked boys before.”

“No. But if the right man comes around . . . I can like him. Obviously.”

“It’s an abomination, I tell you. If you think I can be okay with somethin’ like that, with you compromisin’ your manhood, you’ve got another think comin’, boy,” Dad snarled before stalking out of the apartment.

A tense awkwardness settled in the air. Dean turned to Tim and asked, “Can I talk to you alone for a minute?”

“Of course, Dean,” Tim replied. He followed Dean to a far corner of the living room.

“I’m sorry about him,” Dean said softly. “I had no idea he was gonna act like that . . . ”

“It’s not your fault.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Um . . . can I ask for a favor?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Can we . . . can we cut that part outta the broadcast? I don’t want . . . um . . . I don’t want everyone to see that. ”

“I will see what I can do.”

Dean exhaled in relief. “Thanks.”

“I believe I understand you better now,” Tim mused.

“Huh?”

“Why you behaved as you did at the beginning of the show.”

“Oh.”

“Having a father like that must be difficult.”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. Against his will, his eyes watered. “But he’s my dad, y’know? I love him.” _Way to get chick-flicky, Winchester_.

“Understandably.”

Dean swiped at his cheek and attempted a smile. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be forgiven for. Now, shall we take a look at what you have been working on for Fashion Week?”

“Sure.”

Bobby, Sam, and Jess waited in the living room while Dean led Tim to his spare bedroom. The three of them were probably reworking dinner plans. They had originally planned to eat at Dad’s, but that was obviously not in the cards anymore.

The bedroom was little bigger than a closet, clothes in various states of completeness hanging on a rod and fabric strips lying on a small table along with a sewing machine and other supplies.

“Wow. This is tiny,” Tim remarked.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “But it’s fine. I make it work.”

“I can see that.” He eyed the designs Dean had hung up. “So. Tell me about your finale collection.”

“Um. So. The theme is hillbilly chic.” Tim frowned. “Hey, it’s not as bad as it sounds. I want to redefine the concept, put a twist on things.” Tim flipped through the clothes, pausing to examine a pair of pale rose overalls made out of chiffon. They would end at the middle of the thigh.

“Overalls are outdated, Dean,” Tim pointed out. “You might want to rethink these.”

“But they’re different than the usual overalls, see? I was gonna pair them with a black button-down sweater. Like, the sweater would stay open to show the overalls, and the overalls aren’t put on over a shirt.”

“I see. That is an interesting idea. It _might_ work if you styled the model right.”

“Okay.”

Tim hefted a white organza gown. “The tone of this design seems out of step with the rest of your collection.”

“Oh. I just thought . . . I felt like I needed some sort of elegant wow piece.”

“Yes, but it needs to be cohesive with the rest of the collection. And it certainly does not have to be a gown.”

“Okay.”

“You seem to be working with many delicate fabrics, but then you have elements like this.” He held up a russet leather jacket. “I do not understand how this fits with your other looks.”

“I was thinking of pairing that with this light sandy-colored dress,” Dean stated as he pulled out the knee-length garment in question. “It’s silk. Then I’m gonna add a plaid yellow neckerchief.”

Tim shuddered. “It will not mimic that horror you produced during the first challenge, I hope?”

Dean chuckled. “Nah. It’ll be more tasteful this time.”

Tim seemed to approve of the plaid black-and-white T-shirt dress and red and black pants (though not together, which had been Dean’s original plan). Dean showed him sketches for several designs he hadn’t started yet.

“Is the entire jumpsuit _red plaid_?” Tim asked, indicating the relevant sketch.

“Yeah.”

“Frankly, that seems like too much for the eye to take in.”

Dean thought about the declaration and conceded, “Yeah, I see your point.”

“You could make the top plaid and the bottom plain red or vice versa.”

“Yeah. I might.” Or revise the garment another way, if he could think of one.

“May I make another suggestion?”

“Of course.”

“You might pair it with a jacket of some sort. Perhaps even a cardigan. Use a plain color that would balance out the plaid.”

“Uh huh. Okay.”

Tim flipped through the rest of the pages and paused at the end. “This dress is exquisite, Dean,” he uttered.

Dean scratched the top of his head self-consciously. “Really?” The design was nothing more than a floor-length, sleeveless mermaid gown beside which he’d noted that the material would be blue leather.

“Yes. This is the type of evening look you should include.”

After they finished discussing Dean’s Fashion Week collection, Tim said, “I hear you are going to visit Castiel later this week.”

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “I’m gonna stay with him until Fashion Week. He’s got no one to support him, so . . . um, I thought I would go.”

“Wonderful. You should know that you are not allowed to collaborate in any way on your collections. You may not help each other sew or exchange ideas.”

Dean nodded. “I know. I’ve talked about it with some people from the show. They’re gonna send some of the crew to install cameras in Cas’s apartment. They’ll be on when we work, and we’ve also gotta sign some stuff sayin’ we’ll be on our honor and all that jazz.”

“I see. I must say, I find the relationship between you and Castiel one of the most heartwarming developments in the history of the show.”

Dean blushed. “Oh. Thanks.”

In the living room, they found Sam alone (well, as alone as he could be with a bunch of crew members swarming nearby).

“Where’re Jess and Bobby?” Dean wondered.

“They went to Bobby’s house to clean up and start dinner.”

“Oh. Should we join them?”

“Yeah.”

At Bobby’s, Jess led them to the backyard, where Bobby was firing up the grill. “Do you like barbecue, Tim?” Jess asked shyly.

“I am afraid I have seldom eaten barbecue. What I have tried didn’t sit well with me,” Tim admitted.

“But you’ll love Bobby’s barbecue!” Dean exclaimed. “Even Sam loves his steaks, and he usually prefers rabbit food.”

“Very funny, Dean,” Sam groused.

“We’re making veggie kabobs, too,” Jess put in. “If you’d prefer to avoid the barbecue.”

“Sam digs those,” Dean teased.

The cameramen filmed the five of them chatting amiably as Bobby grilled. When Tim was served a steak, the other four waited with bated breath. He pronounced the steak delicious and professed himself a barbecue convert.

Ultimately, despite what’d happened with Dad, Dean enjoyed himself.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Tim: Next, I visit Bela in New York City._

_Bela: I’m eager to get Tim’s feedback on my collection. It’s ambitious._

_Just as I expected, he gives me excellent advice. He says I’m trying to do too much given my time frame, and I agree. [sighs] But I don’t know how to edit. I get so attached to all my ideas._

_Tim likes what I’m doing with feathers, so I’m going to try to focus on the showstopper look first. The trick will be conveying the impression of a peacock without getting too costume-y._

_Tim warned me that it was a danger, but he also says that if anyone can strike the right balance, it’s me. I’ve still got so much work to do, but I feel better about it after Tim’s visit. He says I’m on the right track._

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean boarded the plane with a sinking heart. He wished he could drive his baby up to Buffalo, but time was precious.

He hated flying, and he started feeling nauseous before the plane even took off.

However, the worst part wasn’t the flight but Dad. They hadn’t parted on good terms. Dad still refused to talk to him unless he broke off his relationship with Cas. No matter how much Bobby and Sam beseeched him, he wouldn’t budge. Eventually, they told Dad they wouldn’t talk to him anymore if he didn’t change his mind.

The whole mess was Dean’s fault.

Still, he looked forward to seeing Cas.

When the plane landed, Dean grabbed his luggage at the baggage carousel as he tried to contain his bile. His work in progress had already been sent over to Cas’s place.

He scanned the airport until he spotted Cas, whose eyes met his. Cas grinned and dashed over to him. “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean replied, returning his smile.

Cas threw his arms around him and briefly kissed him on the cheek. When he pulled back, Dean could’ve sworn his eyes were almost glowing with happiness. “I’m glad to see you,” Cas voiced. Dean was still feeling off from the flight, and Cas must’ve noticed since he frowned and asked, “Dean, are you all right?”

“Fine,” Dean mumbled, covering his mouth with his hand. “I just—uh. I hate flying.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“’S all right.”

They took the bus to Cas’s apartment. When they arrived, Cas warned him that the interior would be a mess as he unlocked the door.

Dean followed Cas inside. Jeez, he hadn’t been kidding.

Half of the living room had been converted into an ad hoc design studio, with Cas’s work strewn everywhere. Dean’s work had been placed next to the door. He left his luggage next to it and ventured over to examine Cas’s designs. There was a lot of lace and gossamer and other fine fabrics. But despite the materials, the designs had a disturbing bent. “Wow,” Dean breathed. “This is . . . what’s the theme?”

“Dark fairy tales,” Cas replied, moving to stand next to Dean. “It’s the fantasy and magic of life according to a child’s imagination, but then the inevitable disillusionment that comes later.”

It sounded deeply personal, and Dean didn’t know what to say.

“How about yours, Dean? What is your theme?”

“Hillbilly chic.”

Cas chortled, but when Dean just stared, he abruptly stopped. “You’re serious.”

“Yeah.”

“The judges might question your taste—”

“Don’t worry, I’m makin’ it tasteful. ’Sides, you’re not supposed to tell me what you think of my work, remember?” Dean teased.

Cas glanced away. “Oh. Of course.” He turned to the kitchen. “I made meatloaf for dinner. I’ll heat it up. Would you like some garlic bread with it?”

“Sure.”

Cas poured them two glasses of Coke and invited Dean to join him on the sofa. “When did Tim visit you? Two days ago?” Cas asked.

“Yeah,” Dean replied.

“How was it?”

“It was all right.” It still hurt to think about Dad, though.

Apparently, his expression must’ve belied his words. “What’s wrong, Dean?”

Dean averted his eyes. He couldn’t help but tell Cas the truth. “My dad. He . . . he is not happy about my relationship with you.” Dean barked a mirthless laugh. “Said he’d cut ties with me.”

Cas’s countenance fell. “Oh. I am sorry, Dean.” The oven beeped, and Cas leapt up to take the items out. Dean followed him into the kitchen. After Cas placed the food on the stovetop, he quickly set the table. Dean sat down while Cas heaped food onto two plates.

As they dug into their food, Cas resumed speaking. “I know what it is like to be rejected by one’s family.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dean said, almost nonchalant. He suspected that Cas’s family life had been unhappy, and he didn’t want to poke at old wounds.

“Yes.” Cas’s bottom lip trembled. “My family . . . they banished me from the community.” His eyelashes fluttered as he stared down at his meatloaf. “They said I was too much trouble.”

“You? Trouble?” Dean balked.

Cas raised his shining eyes to Dean, and he wished he could soothe that pain away. “They were very religious, and I . . . they said I questioned things too much. They gave me an ultimatum . . . cease all expression of doubt, eliminate all doubt and give in to faith or leave. I chose the latter, and they severed all ties with me. They bought me a bus ticket to New York, which was only a few hours away. I had lived a sheltered life up until then, and so when I arrived . . . I didn’t know what to do. Everything was so loud and overwhelming . . . ” He licked his lips self-consciously. “I didn’t understand how the world worked. That’s when Balthazar found me and took me in. You know the rest.”

“Yeah.” Though he didn’t, not really. How had Cas gathered the courage to leave Balthazar? But he wouldn’t ask: just now, Cas had already relived so much.

Dean rested a hand on top of Cas’s. “I’m sorry,” he commiserated.

“Thank you.” He hesitated before inquiring, “What about your brother? How did he react?”

“He’s fine with it. He and Bobby . . . my boss, a family friend, really, they’ve stopped talkin’ to Dad because of me.” He couldn’t help feeling guilty for depriving Dad of their company.

“So they accept your choices.” Dean nodded. “That is a small blessing at least.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Cas squeezed his hand. “It is. You still have them, and I am glad.”

xxxxxxxxxx

After Dean showered, Cas insisted on discussing sleeping arrangements. “You will sleep in my bed,” Cas declared. “I have put on clean sheets for you. I will sleep on the couch.”

“No, Cas, lemme take the couch,” Dean argued.

“But you are my guest.”

“So? I ain’t stealin’ your bed from you.”

“Very well,” Cas sighed. Good. Because Dean wasn’t gonna budge. “I shall turn in for the night, then. Good night, Dean.”

“’Night, Cas,” Dean replied before pecking him on the lips.

After Cas had retreated to his bedroom, Dean stripped down to his boxers and settled in for the night. He draped a blanket over himself, closed his eyes, and drifted off.

A shriek jostled him awake.

His eyes popped open, his mind alert.

_Cas_.

He rushed to Cas’s bedroom and flung open the door. “Cas!” he exclaimed. Cas thrashed about, and Dean’s heart jumped into his throat. He scrambled to Cas’s side and gripped his shoulder. “Hey. Cas,” he called gently.

Cas kicked out blindly, and his foot hit Dean. “Ow!” Dean exclaimed. At the sound, Cas’s eyes flew open.

He squinted. “Dean?”

“Hey, Cas.”

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“’S fine.” Dean crawled into bed and stretched out on his side beside Cas. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“Yes.”

“About Balthazar.”

“Yes. My family was there, too.”

“Cas.” Dean snaked an arm around his shoulders. “Does this help?”

“It does.”

“Can I sleep with you? You think it would help with . . . things?”

“I believe so.”

“You don’t mind?”

“No.” Cas stiffened, unsure. “But what about you? Do you not mind?”

“’Course not.” He nosed into the juncture between Cas’s neck and shoulder, remembering the dark circles he’d noticed under Cas’s eyes when he’d arrived. At the time, he’d thought nothing of them. He had been spending many late nights working on his designs, and he’d assumed Cas had been doing the same. Now, he wasn’t so sure. “You been havin’ a lot of nightmares?”

“I have,” Cas admitted, sounding ashamed.

“I’m sorry.” He kissed Cas on the neck, hoping the affection would buoy his spirits. Cas had experienced so little compassion and warmth in his life, and Dean understood how much knowing someone cared could strengthen the spirit.

“Thank you,” Cas breathed, burrowing against Dean’s cheek.

xxxxxxxxxx

When Dean awoke, Cas’s eyes were the first thing he saw.

His eyes met those blue orbs, so intense that Dean wanted to wrench himself away yet drown in them at the same time.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean murmured.

Cas grinned. “Hello.” His eyes strayed toward Dean’s bare torso. “You wore only boxers to bed?”

“Yeah.” _Way to state the obvious, Cas._

“But at the Atlas, you wore a shirt, too.”

“Uh huh.” _What’re you getting at?_

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you wear a shirt if you do not usually sleep like that?”

“Gee, Cas, maybe I didn’t want strangers checkin’ me out.”

Cas smirked. “But you do not mind if I do?”

“Nope.”

Cas’s eyes skimmed Dean’s chest. He brushed his fingertips over a nipple, and Dean shivered. They migrated to Dean’s shoulder, where Cas squeezed.

“You are very handsome, Dean.”

Dean flushed. How was he supposed to respond to that? “Thanks. Um. You’re not too bad lookin’ yourself.”

Cas removed his hand and released a forlorn sigh. “There’s no need to tiptoe around my ego. I know I am not much to look at.”

“Are you kidding?! You’re gorgeous!”

Cas bit his lip. “Do not flatter me. I know I am scrawny and—”

“Who told you that?” Cas lowered his eyes, and of course, as always, the answer was, “Balthazar.”

“Yes.”

“That asshole lied,” Dean fumed. “You’re far from scrawny. Have you ever checked yourself out in a mirror?”

“I try to avoid mirrors. They are a sign of vanity.”

Now that sounded like something Cas’s weird family might’ve taught him.

Cas bounded off the bed and changed the subject. “Come. After I stretch, I want to take you to my favorite donut shop for breakfast.”

“I thought you liked to run in the mornings,” Dean replied.

Cas’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “You remembered.”

“’Course I did.”

“I didn’t think you . . . but no. I mean, yes. I do like to run, but I’ve cut down on exercise time so I can work on my collection.”

“Oh.”

Dean got dressed in the bathroom while Cas finished stretching. Soon, they were strolling out of the apartment and down the street. “It’s just around the corner,” Cas explained. A few minutes later, he stopped in front of a hole-in-the-wall place. “Here we are.”

“This is it?” Dean wasn’t impressed.

Cas grabbed his wrist and dragged him inside. “Trust me; the donuts are delicious.”

A brown-haired woman who appeared to have a permanent scowl stood behind the counter. Her countenance briefly brightened when Cas strode toward her. “Hi, Clarence.”

“Hello, Meg,” Cas said.

Dean stared at them, confused. “Clarence?”

“Guess Dean doesn’t know anything about your name,” Meg told Cas.

Wait, was she saying that Cas’s real name was Clarence? Another thing confused him, too. “How do you know my name?”

She blew a huge bubble with her gum in lieu of answering. When it popped, she declared, “Of course I do, silly. I watch the show.”

“Oh. Now can someone explain the ‘Clarence’ thing to me?”

Meg rolled her eyes as if she thought Dean was an imbecile. “Castiel is the name of an angel. Clarence is the angel in _It’s a Wonderful Life_.”

“Ohhh,” Dean exhaled as he gradually realized the connection Meg had made.

“He’s even dumber than he is on TV, isn’t he?” Meg remarked.

“Hey, now—” Dean objected.

Cas placed a hand on his shoulder, and Dean closed his mouth. “Meg, may we have two coffees and a few donuts? I would like a glazed one and a red velvet one.” He turned to Dean. “Which donuts would you like?”

“Um.” Dean studied the donuts beneath the glass case. “I’ll have chocolate, maple, and—oh, my God, is that an _apple pie donut_?”

“That’s what it says, genius,” Meg retorted.

Why did she have to be so rude? “I’ll have that, too.”

Cas insisted on paying for both orders. After they settled into their seats, Cas said, “Meg is the only friend I have here. In Buffalo.”

“Seriously?” Dean responded. “She seems a little, I dunno. Surly.”

Cas’s eyes twinkled. “That is why I enjoy her company.”

“Huh? No offense, man, but she seems kinda like the opposite of you.”

“Perhaps. But she entertains me.” More softly, he confessed, “That is why I trust her.”

“Come again?”

“Many people have recognized me from the show,” Cas expounded. “They act as if they care about me, fawn all over me, merely because they saw me on TV. But Meg does not put on a façade. I appreciate that very much.”

Dean could see the appeal of that.

After they finished their donuts and coffee and waved goodbye to Meg, they walked back to Cas’s apartment. It was a nice day out—relatively cool and sunny. Dean savored the outdoors until they reached Cas’s apartment complex.

A man lounged at the foot of the staircase that led up to Cas’s apartment.

The last man Dean wanted to see. Ever.

The light died in Cas’s eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean seethed.

“How did you find out where I live?” Castiel asked.

“Oh, everyone in Buffalo knows where you live, Cassie,” Balthazar answered. After a minute of uneasy silence, Balthazar complained, “What, not even a hello, Cassie, darling? Where are your manners?”

“Hello, Balthazar,” Cas uttered, voice stripped of all emotion.

“Tsk. Don’t be like that, Cassie. That’s no way to greet the love of your life.”

“It’s not. But you are not the love of my life, Balthazar.” Dean inwardly cheered at Cas’s words.

“Oh, that’s not what you said every time we made love. ‘Oh, Balthazar. Yes, yes, _yes_ ,” Balthazar shouted in a falsetto voice. “‘Oh! Yes, right _there_. Like _that_. Ooooooh.’ And when you came down, when you snuggled into me, what did you say? ‘I _love_ you, Balthazar. I love you so much.’ All while batting your pretty little eyelashes.”

Cas shook, and tears started to his eyes. His jaw flexed, but no words spilled from his mouth.

“Leave him alone,” Dean demanded. “Haven’t you put him through enough?”

“Oh, is that what the little slut told you? Tales of woe about how I ‘hurt’ him? I admit, sometimes our sex got a little . . . hmm, rough, but he enjoyed it.”

“Shut up!”

“In all seriousness, though. It was for his own good.” He faced Cas and assured him, “I just wanted to protect you.”

“That’s why you had to approve of every little thing he did?” Dean spouted.

“Of course. As you no doubt have observed by now, Cassie is naïve. He’s a child. You don’t let children do whatever they want, do you? No. You monitor and guide them. Teach them. That’s all I was doing.”

Cas examined Balthazar. He looked pensive. Shit, was he actually considering that douchebag’s words? “But why did you have to hit me?” Cas whispered, lower lip trembling.

“Discipline, Cassie. How else can you be expected to learn?” Balthazar watched Cas consider what he’d said. “That’s all it was, love.”

Cas tilted his head to the side. “Perhaps I misjudged you.”

“You did. I’m sorry. I never meant to wound you. I love you, Cassie. I can forgive your little indiscretion with this filth.” He gestured at Dean. “Just come home with me.” Cas appeared to actually be pondering the offer, and hell, Dean couldn’t take Balthazar’s shit anymore.

“It was all for his own good, huh? What about the insults? How’s that supposed to help?”

“Did he tell you I insulted him? I would never.”

“Even if he hadn’t, I know you would.”

“What?”

“Just now, you called him a slut.”

“Oh, _that_ ,” Balthazar scoffed. “It’s just, this showmance he’s got goin’ on with you . . . I slipped up.” He turned to Cas and chided, “Really, Cassie, I expected more from you.”

“It ain’t no showmance,” Dean seethed.

“Sure it’s not. Drop the act. The cameras aren’t around.”

“Balthazar,” Cas cut in. “Enough. I will not be going with you.”

“You ingrate. Is this how you repay eight years of devotion?” Cas crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “Oh, don’t give me that look. _Leech_. After all I have given you, I am entitled to some loyalty.”

“You do not own my person.”

“No, but if you were a decent human being, I would have your love.” He waved a dismissive hand. “You rats deserve each other.”

“So long, Balthazar.”

“Don’t think this is over. I’m sure the Internet would love an insider’s perspective on the sweet fan favorite of _Project Runway_. What will people say when they learn about your treachery?”

“They’ll learn that you’re an asshole,” Dean interjected.

“We’ll see about that. Good-bye, Cassie.”

“Sayonara!” Dean called to the retreating figure.

He and Cas stumbled upstairs. Inside, Cas collapsed on the couch and covered his face with his hands.

“Cas?” Dean ventured. “You all right?”

“No,” Cas murmured. He peered at Dean between his fingers. “Tim will be here in two days. I need to get to work, but I don’t think I can . . . ”

Dean joined him on the sofa. “Don’t think about that now, Cas.” He removed Cas’s hands from his face and examined him. “Okay?”

“How can I not?”

“I know it’s hard—”

“What if he’s right?”

“What?”

“What if I really am nothing but a leech?”

“That’s not true, Cas.”

“But why does it _feel_ true?”

“Because that dick brainwashed you. It’ll take time to overcome. You’ve gotta fight it.”

“What if I can’t?”

“You can. I’ll help you, babe.” He leaned in and kissed Cas’s brow, his nose, his lips. “Okay?”

Several tense moments passed before Cas sighed, “Okay.”

“Good.”

For the rest of the day, Dean concentrated on soothing the emotions Balthazar’s conversation had aroused in Cas.

That night, by some unspoken agreement, they wound up sharing Cas’s bed. Dean drank his fill from Cas’s lips before sleep overtook him. He cradled Cas to his chest, tangling their legs together.

In his final moment of wakefulness, a hazy thought—

_I think I might love him._

xxxxxxxxxx

On the morning of the day Tim would arrive, Cas darted around the apartment frantically cleaning every inch of it.

Dean paused in flipping through the pages of a Kurt Vonnegut novel. “You nervous, Cas?” Dean asked from his perch on the couch.

“What do you think?” Cas huffed.

“Want me to help?”

“Sure.”

But when Dean tried to assist him, Cas reprimanded him for putting things in the wrong place and throwing away items that apparently weren’t trash. So he stayed out of the way until Cas was finished.

In the afternoon, a few cameramen arrived and began setting up their equipment.

“Why is Meg not here yet?” Cas inquired. Not wanting to present the sparsest welcoming party in the history of the show, he’d invited Meg to join them for the segment. Dean thought it’d been a terrible idea, but it wasn’t his decision.

“Who knows?” Dean replied.

“Perhaps she forgot. I will text her a reminder.”

Not long after Cas sent his text, someone knocked on the door. Cas threw the door open, and Tim stepped in.

“Hello, Castiel,” Tim greeted Cas.

“Hello, Tim,” Cas echoed.

Tim turned to Dean. “Good afternoon, Dean.”

“Hey,” Dean replied.

Tim surveyed their surroundings and spotted Cas’s workspace on the far side of the living room. “My, your quarters are tight.”

“Yes, but I make do,” Cas acknowledged.

“I _have_ to ask you two something.”

“Yes?”

“What do you think about the gossip that your relationship is fake?”

“What gossip?” Dean countered. He didn’t like to read the shit people posted about them on the Internet, but he glanced at it once in a while. Last time he’d checked had been three days ago. Back then, most viewers had been gushing about how cute Cas and Dean were.

“Have you not seen what people have been discussing?”

“I do not use the Internet that often,” Cas answered.

“And I haven’t been on lately,” Dean added. “We’ve been busy.”

“Yes, I can see how working on your collections might take almost all your time,” Tim conceded. Dean tried not to blush. Of course he and Cas had been working on their stuff for Fashion Week, but they’d also spent quite a bit of time making out.

“So, what’s been going around the Internet?” Dean inquired, attempting to sound unconcerned.

“Balthazar posted a ‘tell-all’ on his blog. He vilified Castiel and accused you two of putting on a show for the cameras.”

“It ain’t no show,” Dean fumed.

“I know that. But much of the viewing public has taken Balthazar’s accusations seriously.”

Dean snatched his laptop off of the coffee table and plopped down on the couch. “I’m gonna check all this out.”

“All right. Castiel, shall we take a look at your collection in the meantime?”

“Okay,” Cas responded before leading Tim to the other side of the room.

Dean navigated to the Internet and clicked on one of the _Project Runway_ forums. The thread about Cas had blown up lately. He scanned the contents and found a link to Balthazar’s blog post. As he read it, he grew ever more irate. Balthazar began by describing how he’d met Cas in Central Park and rescued him from homelessness. Then, he went on to claim Cas was a shallow gold digger. He mentioned Cas had never gotten a job during the eight years Cas had lived with him. Dean scowled at that one. According to Cas, he’d wanted to get a job, but Balthazar wouldn’t let him. He’d viewed it as an insult to his ability to provide. But the unspoken truth, Dean knew, was more important. Balthazar had wanted to keep a constant eye on Cas, and he’d hurt Cas emotionally and physically if he didn’t know where Cas had been for even a second.

Balthazar then talked about paying for Cas to go to FIT. He also alleged that Cas had made increasing demands of him and left when Balthazar refused to let him freeload any longer, and he asserted that Cas had cheated on him.

Dean clenched his fists. Fuckin’ liar. In the dark, Dean had cradled a shaking Cas as he’d confessed that Balthazar had indulged in many affairs when they were still together. How Balthazar had argued that those men meant nothing, that he’d just needed to satisfy his libido, that Cas didn’t get to complain to him about it because he took care of his ‘darling Cassie,’ didn’t he? Didn’t he deserve a little relaxation? Balthazar’s sexual appetite had been insatiable, and Cas couldn’t always satisfy it.

Balthazar ended the post by accusing Cas and Dean of entering into a relationship merely to give themselves longevity on the show.

Dean returned to Cas’s thread in the _Project Runway_ forum. Many posters seemed to believe Balthazar, mostly because they thought no one could be as good as Cas appeared on TV. Some claimed they’d always known Cas was a phony. Fuckin’ sons of bitches—

But later, a few people posted links to what other designers had said concerning the allegations. Gabriel tweeted that the show had portrayed Cas accurately, that Cas was one of the sweetest, kindest people he’d ever met. Charlie had written a lengthy blog post about how wonderful Cas was, listing many things she admired about him. She’d also accused Balthazar of lying in an attempt to redeem himself because of what Cas had admitted on TV.

But most surprising of all, Bela had tweeted support for Cas. Some viewers had tweeted back at her, wondering how she could praise Cas after claiming he’d cheated during the red-carpet challenge. Bela had responded by acknowledging that she’d been irrational during the challenge. She’d tried to keep her cool, she claimed, but the experience had been stressful, and she apologized for her behavior.

A knock on the front door disrupted Dean’s reading. He jumped up to answer it, but before he could, one of the cameramen opened the door. Meg strolled inside and sank into the recliner.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I was busy.”

“Doing what?” Dean asked.

“None of your business.” She glanced at the other side of the room. “I assume that Tim is giving Clarence his critique?”

  1. It still sounded weird hearing her call Cas that.



“Yeah,” Dean mumbled.

She leaned in toward Dean and examined the computer screen. “Whatcha readin’?”

“All this stupid shit about Cas on the Internet,” Dean fumed.

“Oh, yeah, I saw some of it. That Balthazar’s an asshole.”

“Yep.”

Meg narrowed his eyes at him. “You better not be playin’ him. ’Cause he thinks it’s real.”

_The hell?_ “I’m not!” Dean protested.

“Good. Also. If you hurt him, I’ll kill you.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Seriously? _You’re_ giving me this speech?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know who else’s gonna do it, and he’s been through enough.”

“Yeah,” Dean murmured, growing morose.

He and Meg perused the forum until Tim finished critiquing Cas. After being introduced to Tim, Meg asked, “So, what’re you two gonna do about these rumors?”

Cas furrowed his brow. “What are the rumors?” he replied.

Cas grew almost deathly pale as Dean explained what Balthazar had written and the resulting aftermath.

“That . . . is terrible,” Cas breathed.

“So, what’re ya gonna do about it?” Meg repeated.

“Nothing,” Cas decided.

“Nothing?!”

“You don’t wanna set the record straight?” Dean inserted.

“I do not wish to dignify his accusations with a response.”

“But—but—”

“But you can’t just let people think that!” Meg exclaimed.

“I doubt I would change anyone’s mind,” Cas added. “Those who believe Balthazar would probably think I am lying.” He frowned. “Of course, Dean, if you would like us to say something,—”

“Nah,” Dean huffed.

“What?!” Meg interjected.

“He’s your douchey ex-boyfriend,” Dean told Cas. “I’m followin’ your lead on this.”

“Okay,” Cas sighed.

For dinner, they took Tim to Cas’s favorite restaurant, a little Italian place. Dean inwardly cursed Balthazar’s name the entire time.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Castiel: Tim is impressed by the work I have done so far. He thinks some of my pieces are too light given my theme, dark fairy tales. I agree. I had been planning to present a narrative progression, starting with the light designs and having each successive one darker than the last. But Tim believes it might be more intriguing to mix the light and dark in each design, and I agree._

_As for the rumors instigated by Balthazar—my past with him is personal. I do not wish to discuss it on camera. Suffice it to say that he has hurt me very deeply—that is the truth._

_And my relationship with Dean is real. Very much so._

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean cracked his eyes open. Next to him, Cas was propped up on one elbow, studying Dean. He’d told Cas several times that watching him sleep was creepy, but that hadn’t deterred him. Now, Dean found he didn’t mind. In fact, he drew a strange comfort from it.

He didn’t know what to make of that.

“’Mornin’, Cas,” Dean breathed.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas replied. He frowned. “I have been thinking.”

“Yeah? About what?”

“I used to believe that I loved Balthazar. But what I felt for Balthazar pales in comparison to what I feel for you. Like a candle flame next to a bonfire.”

Dean’s heart filled with an unidentifiable emotion, something that made him warm all over. “What’re you sayin’, Cas?”

Cas lowered his eyes, suddenly bashful. “I do not know. Perhaps I sound ridiculous. You may forget it, if you wish.”

But Dean did not wish.


	11. And the Winner Is--

Fashion Week arrived all too soon. The flight from Buffalo to New York was better than the one from Kansas because Cas was with him. Every time Dean felt nauseous or nervous, Cas would squeeze his hand and don a comforting smile. A couple of times, he even distracted Dean with gentle pecks to the corner of his mouth.

_This is it_ , Dean thought as he and Cas entered the apartment where they would stay with Bela and Charlie over the next few days. _Holy shit_.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Bela: I am curious to see what the others have designed._

_Am I nervous? No. I know I’m good._

_[long pause] Fine. I’m nervous. Who wouldn’t be?_

_Charlie: Is Fashion Week here already? Seriously?_

_I’m shitting myself right now. What if no one likes my collection? I love it, but what if the judges regret letting me come to Fashion Week?_

_[closes eyes] Okay, Charlie. Breathe. [opens eyes] I feel better now. [pastes on a tight smile]_

xxxxxxxxxx

Dean and Cas were the first to arrive at the apartment. Their designs had been sent on ahead to Parsons, but they still had to stow away their luggage. As they exited their bedroom, they heard someone else enter the apartment. Dean rushed to the front door, where he was greeted by a grinning Charlie.

“Hey!” Charlie exclaimed, throwing her arms around Dean and dropping her bags in the process. “Oops,” she giggled as she drew back. When Cas appeared behind Dean, Charlie drew him into a hug as well. “It’s so good to see you, Cas!”

“Hello, Charlie,” Cas said after she pulled back. “How are you?”

“Awesome?” Dean raised an eyebrow at her tone. “Fine, I’m a nervous wreck. I keep wondering why I’m not using this time to put the finishing touches on my collection.”

“We won’t be able to work until tomorrow morning,” Cas pointed out.

“I know,” Charlie sighed.

Bela burst into the room before anyone could reply. As usual, she carried herself with poise, not a hair out of place.

“Hi, everyone,” Bela said. The other three echoed her; then she turned to Charlie. “Should we go check out our bedroom?”

“Sure,” Charlie responded as she picked up her bags.

While Charlie and Bela put their stuff away, Dean and Cas drifted into the kitchen. On the table, they found a bottle of champagne resting inside a bucket full of ice. “What’s this?” Dean muttered.

“There is a note,” Cas observed as he picked up the slip of paper taped to the bucket.

“Ooh, champagne!” Bela enthused as she and Charlie joined them.

“What’s the note say?” Dean asked.

“‘Congratulations, you’ve made it to the final four,’” Cas read aloud. “‘Take a minute to celebrate. It’s on us.’”

“I wonder where the glasses are,” Bela mused. Charlie flung open the cabinet doors until she stumbled upon a set of glasses. She withdrew four and set them on the table.

“Shall I pour?” Cas inquired. Dean shrugged, and Bela nodded. Once the glasses were full, each designer grabbed one and settled into a chair at the table.

Charlie raised her glass. “Let’s toast to us.”

“To us!” the other three echoed as their glasses clinked together.

After a few minutes of silence, Bela asked, “How does everyone feel about Fashion Week?”

“I can’t believe I made it,” Charlie gushed. “I thought I’d be a goner early on.”

“Me, too,” Dean echoed.

“I came with the intention of reaching Fashion Week,” Cas declared, “and I achieved my goal. I felt sure I would, but I’m still surprised I did.”

“I knew I’d make it, too,” Bela added. Of course she had. _Bela’s so full of herself_.

When no one said anything else, Charlie said, “So, Cas. I feel so bad for you and all those lies Balthazar spread.”

“Oh,” Cas breathed. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “How do you know they’re lies?”

“What?” Charlie laughed. “’Cause I know you. No way is any of that true.”

“But I was with Balthazar for eight years. You’ve known me for only a few weeks, and he’s likeable. You said so yourself.” Dean heard the tremor in Cas’s voice and squeezed his hand, offering his support. He knew Charlie was sincere, but he could understand Cas’s skepticism.

“But during that episode . . . the one where he came. Your emotion was so gut wrenchingly real. Either you’re the world’s best actor, or your emotions were genuine. The second one seems more likely.”

“That Balthazar is the worst kind of wanker,” Bela asserted. “They have the most charming exterior, and they make friends just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “They know how to sway everyone to their side, but they’re really nothing but rotten scoundrels.”

“I thought you didn’t even like Cas,” Dean accused.

“What gave you that idea?”

“You said a lot of nasty things about him during the challenges.”

“Perhaps I was a little harsh.” She turned to Cas. “I’m sorry, Castiel. I admire you as a person. Really. You’re kind, and you’re a talented designer.”

“I never thought I’d hear you say anything nice. Ever.”

“Shut up,” Bela huffed, flushing and shifting her eyes downward.

“Thank you, Bela,” Cas said. “That means a lot. Truly.”

“I’m impressed, Bela,” Charlie teased. “You, apologizing?”

Bela smirked. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Never,” Dean muttered.                            

xxxxxxxxxx

The designers woke up at six a.m., and, after a quick breakfast of cold cereal, headed to Parsons. In the workroom, they unpacked their designs and set them up on the provided racks. After he’d finished, Dean eyed the other designers’ garments. He’d already seen Cas’s. (Which kicked ass, of course. No way was Dean winning over him, and he was okay with that.)

The others could give Cas a run for his money, though. They were all better than Dean’s, which meant he would most likely place fourth. Kinda disappointing, but not bad really. He was still amazed he’d made it this far.

“Oh, my God, lemme see!” Charlie cried behind him. Dean stepped aside, and Charlie browsed the rack. “Oooh! I love this!” she exclaimed as she yanked out a jumpsuit checkered in red plaid and plain white squares. Since Tim’s critique, he’d thought of a way to edit the jumpsuit that Tim hadn’t mentioned.

“You don’t think it’s too much?” Dean mused.

“No way! Now, if the whole _thing_ was plaid, yeah. But no.”

Dean followed her over to Cas’s workspace and observed her bursts of enthusiasm as she perused his designs. “This is a strange jacket,” she declared. The item she was referring to had been constructed out of three different fabrics: the top was white lace, the middle was black leather, and the bottom was a blue chiffon upon which Cas had drizzled haphazard red lines.

“Is that good or bad?” Cas asked.

“Oh, you know me. It’s _awesome_.” Charlie also squealed over another of Cas’s unusual outfits: a thick white wooly sweater paired with red capris/shorts. Each leg ended in an outer curve longer than the inner curve, the right tapering off mid-calf and the left doing so just above the knee.

Charlie skipped over to Bela’s worktable next, and Cas and Dean trailed her. Bela glanced at them and rolled her eyes. “Here comes the cavalry,” she groused.

“Aw, you’re so sweet, Bela,” Dean teased.

“Shut up.”

“Hey, go take a look at our stuff; we don’t mind.”

“I think I’ll take you up on that.” Bela stalked toward Charlie’s collection, leaving the other three alone with her garments.

Dean whistled. Bela’s collection was probably one of the most polished ones in _Project Runway_ history. Sleek dresses, jumpsuits, blouses, and skirts in plain colors embellished with occasional feather trim. The looks progressed from plain to ever more elaborate, one dress including a ring of feathers around the neck and down the sides of the skirt. The last one, a strapless floor-length gown, had white feathers plastered everywhere with bits of purple fabric peeping through.

“Wow. I don’t know if this is too much or if it’s amazing,” Charlie commented. Dean wasn’t sure, either.

“It seems too much for my taste,” Cas decided.

They joined Bela at Charlie’s worktable. “Whaddaya think?” Charlie inquired.

“It’s very . . . interesting,” Bela declared.

“You mean you don’t like it,” Dean charged.

Bela shrugged and ceased flipping through the rack. “I admit that I’m not a fan of this particular aesthetic, but it’s well-done.”

Dean understood what Bela meant. Charlie had created a ten-piece steampunk collection that included something that resembled a gladiator costume and another outfit that contained a kilt lined with metal pleats. To those inclined to espouse more conventional aesthetics, it would seem like overkill.

Tim materialized in the workroom and announced the model casting session would take place in ten minutes. Of course, the models from the show would wear each designer’s signature piece, but everyone needed nine more models to wear the other outfits.

xxxxxxxxxx

_Bela: Dean’s collection seems awfully crafty to me, but you never know what the judges will respond to. It is impressive in its own way, better than what I thought he was capable of. Charlie’s collection appeals only to a niche market, so I’m not sure if the judges will get it. I think Castiel is my biggest competition here. His collection is intriguing. He has novel ideas, and the judges often respond to that. It’s also quite emotional and artistic, especially for fashion. Not that fashion isn’t an art. Of course it is. But there’s something visceral about Castiel’s work, something that’s so beyond fashion that . . . oh, I don’t know how to describe it. Suffice it to say he has a distinctive voice._

_Charlie: My collection is my favorite. But everyone else here is so good. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I’m afraid that the judges won’t get my collection, but I have to be true to myself. As long as I’m proud of what I made, I’m a winner. [beams] And yes, I am very proud of it._

_Castiel: I honestly do not know who my biggest competition is. That depends on what the judges are looking for. All of the remaining designers have a definite point of view. Everything hinges on how they respond to the collections. What do they think about Charlie’s steampunk offerings? Dean’s “Hillbilly Chic” collection? Bela’s sophistication? And my . . . [smiles self-consciously] . . . I don’t know how to properly label my aesthetic. The theme is dark fairy tales, so perhaps that’s the best way to describe it._

_Everyone has an even chance. I know that’s a cliché often spouted in season finales, but it’s true._

xxxxxxxxxx

At midnight, after many hours of fighting over models and fine tuning their collections, the designers could finally go to bed. Dean slipped under the covers, determined to catch what little sleep he could until five a.m. Christ, he was exhausted. He’d almost fallen asleep when Cas’s voice pierced through the quiet. “Dean?”

Fuck, they barely had enough time to sleep. What did he want?

“Yeah?” Dean replied, straining to contain his impatience.

“I apologize for bothering you, but I would like to discuss something. Is that okay?”

“Sure.”

Cas perched on the end of Dean’s bed, and Dean sat up. “What’s goin’ on, Cas?”

“There’s something I think you should know before tomorrow. Before the judges choose this season’s winner.”

“What’s that?”

“I . . . I think I may love you.” Cas averted his eyes, staring into the distance. “No matter what happens tomorrow, that won’t change. I . . . I don’t expect you to reciprocate these feelings. You don’t have to say anything. I just thought I should tell you.”

Dean gaped at him. What should he say? Should he admit he thought he might love Cas, too?

Cas exhaled. “Good night, Dean.” He stood up, and no, Dean didn’t want Cas to withdraw, not yet.

“Cas, wait,” Dean called.

Cas froze. “Yes, Dean?”

“I . . . sorry, um, I’m not good with this kinda stuff, but I think. I think you should know that, um. I love you, too. I think.” He paused. “Um, I mean. I think I’m pretty sure about it.” _Way to be eloquent, Winchester_.

Cas rushed back to the bed. In the dark, he couldn’t be sure, but Cas appeared to be beaming. “You do?”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled.

Cas bent down and pecked Dean on the lips. Dean extended the kiss, pressing insistently on Cas’s lips until he could slip his tongue through the seam. He wrapped his hands around Cas’s hips, planting them on the delectable hipbones that peeked above the waistband of his pants. “C’mere.” He dragged Cas down until he collapsed on the bed. Dean threw off his blanket and, with his hands, urged Cas to join him under the covers. “Stay.”

“Okay,” Cas breathed.

Cas lay on his side facing Dean, and Dean brushed his lips over Cas’s temple.

“Good night, Dean,” Cas said.

“Good night, Cas . . . I love you,” Dean whispered into Cas’s hair.

“I love you, too, Dean.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Their alarm blared at five a.m., and damn, it was too early. Not even dawn yet. Dean covered his head with a pillow and tried to go back to sleep.

“Dean?” Cas ventured. Dean felt the vibrations of his voice on his bicep, meaning his lips had to be close to Dean’s skin. He could get used to this.

“Dean,” Cas repeated, perturbed.

“What?” Dean grumbled.

“It’s time to get up.”

“I don’t wanna,” Dean whined. Cas shoved at Dean’s elbow. “Stop it!”

“All right. In that case, I suppose you would like to forego showing at Fashion Week.”

Dean tossed his pillow onto the floor. “What? No way!”

“Then I suggest you wake up and dress yourself.”

“Fine.”

Dean and Cas hopped out of bed, and Dean dug out the clothes he’d packed for today. He switched out his T-shirt for a long-sleeved plaid green shirt and a brown leather jacket, completing the ensemble with jeans and cowboy boots.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” Cas asked skeptically.

“Hey, don’t judge me!”

“It just seems a bit informal.”

“Hey, it matches my aesthetic.”

“True.”

Cas donned black slacks, black brogues, and a blue button-down that perfectly matched his eyes. _Damn. He’s so fuckin’ hot. I wouldn’t be surprised if they gave him the win based on how freakin’ gorgeous_ _he is right now._

“Dean. You’re staring.”

Dean snapped out of his daze and blushed. “Sorry. You look good.”

“As do you.”

“Thanks.” He grabbed Cas’s wrist and dragged him out of the room. “C’mon. One of us’s got to win this shindig.”

“We do have a fifty-fifty chance.”

“I like those odds.”

They were driven to the venue, Skylight Clarkson Square. Dean gaped at the building. He was here, at Fashion Week. It felt surreal.

The cameramen insisted on filming the designers as they admired the building and gushed about the upcoming show. All four of them improvised some corny dialogue until the cameramen were satisfied.

Inside, they gathered their stuff and waited for their models. They arrived soon, all except for two of Dean’s. He decided not to worry about the missing models for now and concentrated on getting the other girls dressed. But then it was almost time for the show, and they still weren’t there. Dean swore he was gonna have a heart attack if he lost because they didn’t show up.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Cas asked with a frown when he checked in on Dean.

“Two of my models aren’t here, and I don’t know what to do,” Dean fretted.

“Have you told Tim? Perhaps he can find replacements.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, right. I’m screwed.”

“I think you should try talking to him at least.”

Dean shrugged. “Why not? Not anythin’ else I can do.” He searched the chaotic scene backstage until he stumbled upon Tim.

“Tim, can I talk to you about somethin’?” Dean said.

“Of course, Dean. What is it?” Tim replied.

“Two of my models aren’t here.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“How unprofessional. You might be able to find some models in reserve.”

Dean managed to scrounge up two models with money the producers provided for that purpose. The clothes weren’t tailored for their bodies, but Dean would just have to make it work.

A smattering of applause resounded from the auditorium, and the designers gathered around the backstage TV to watch the footage.

“Hello, and welcome to the runway show for _Project Runway_ Season 14!” Heidi announced on stage. “We have four talented designers with fabulous collections to show us. Let’s say hi to the judges.” She waved at three individuals in the front row. “First, we have renowned fashion designer Zachariah Adler. Next, we have the fashion director of _Marie Claire_ , Naomi White. And last but not least, our guest judge for this final challenge is designer Jody Mills.” The audience clapped. Jody Mills seemed like a good choice. She might be able to understand Dean’s aesthetic. “Okay. Let’s start the show.”

Heidi assumed her seat beside Zachariah, and someone handed Bela a microphone as she rushed on stage.

“Hi, everyone,” Bela began, poised as ever in a little black dress, flawless smile in place. “My name is Bela Talbot, and my collection is called Flights of Fancy.” Flights, huh? Seemed a little obvious, what with the feathers pasted all over her dresses. “It represents the modern sophisticated woman, who is not afraid to dream big, who knows what she wants and always gets it.” Well, that certainly sounded like Bela’s philosophy. “I hope you like it.”

She disappeared off stage and assumed a place next to Tim by the backstage TV. The camera people were filming, and they only wanted Tim and Bela in the shot, so Dean, Cas, and Charlie hung back.

“You’ve certainly done a lot of editing,” Tim commented as Bela’s first model walked out, sporting a black jumpsuit with a feather attached to one hip and another one behind her ear.

Bela nodded and beamed. “God, I love it!” she gasped, clapping a hand to her cheek as the next woman modeled a golden bodycon dress with feathers spanning the shoulders and feather trim outlining the hem.

“You should. It’s stunning,” Tim replied. Dean watched as more outfits with strategically placed feathers graced the runway, counting down the seconds until he had to appear on stage. He was next, and he had no idea what to say. All he could do was hope he wouldn’t sound too much like a dumbass out there.

Bela’s signature look, the purple gown plastered with feathers, closed out the show. Bela dashed back on stage to accompany her last model as all ten of them circled the runway together.

Fuck. Dean couldn’t breathe.

Bela returned backstage, and Tim reminded Dean that he needed to go onstage when he didn’t budge.

Shit. Dean was frozen. He couldn’t go out there.

Cas placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. “Go on, Dean. Your collection is amazing.”

That one little gesture of support helped Dean relax. He grabbed the microphone from a PA and jogged outside.

“Hey, everyone, I’m Dean Winchester,” Dean spouted after the applause had died down. “Hillbilly Chic. That’s, um, the name of my collection. I’m just a good ole Kansas boy, as you can see by what I’m wearing.” A few people tittered, and Dean smiled nervously. “It represents me, my life working with cars, my love for cars and backyard summer barbecues. But it’s . . . amped up hillbilly style with a creative and fashionable twist. It gets to the core of who we all are . . . conventional but unique. Hope you enjoy.”

Backstage, Dean joined Tim by the TV. Tim threw an arm around his shoulders as they watched the models show off Dean’s designs. The first woman displayed the rose-colored overalls paired with a black cardigan.

“It’s an intriguing opening look,” Tim declared. “It will certainly grab the audience’s attention.”

“That’s what I was goin’ for,” Dean responded.

Next came the T-shirt dress, which he’d changed to solid white so it didn’t clash too much with the red-and-black plaid leggings.

The remainder of Dean’s collection consisted of a couple of knee-length dresses coupled with plaid neckerchiefs, one with the russet leather jacket, another with a black one. Two outfits included pants and a shirt, and the show concluded with what he’d chosen as his signature look, the draped mermaid gown in blue leather.

“Are you proud?” Tim asked. “You should be proud.”

“Yeah. I am,” Dean realized.

Dean returned to the stage and waved at the audience as his models circled the runway. He spotted Sam, Jess, Bobby, and Dad in the audience and grinned at them. Dad had reluctantly accepted Dean’s relationship with Cas, so everyone was on speaking terms again, even if tenuously.

Cas presented his collection third. “Hello, everyone. My name is Castiel Novak. My collection is entitled Dark Fairy Tales, and it is quite personal. As children, we read and listen to a wide variety of fairy tales. We believe in magic; we believe that anything is possible. We are optimistic. But as we grow older, that magic ceases to exist, and we become firmly entrenched in reality. But still, we retain that little spark of hope, a secret belief that the world does contain magic, that we will find our happy ending even as chaos reigns around us.” He flashed a gummy smile, a rare thing, and Dean melted inside. “Lately, I have realized that we can all alight on that something special. It might not involve literal magic, but it feels magical. I hope you like what I have created.”

Wow. That sounded more optimistic than the way Cas had originally described the concept to Dean. The focus had morphed from darkness washing out the light to a glimmer of light sustaining one in the darkness.

Cas opened up his show with his signature look, the three-layered jacket along with a plain white tank top and black pants. Wise move; it ensured the jacket would stand out for everyone.

Dean had seen all of Cas’s designs, but viewing them now still struck at something in his heart. It was more than good fashion—it was exquisite art. He _had_ to be the winner. He deserved it.

Lastly, Charlie presented her collection. Clad in a pair of jeans and a LARPing T-shirt, she had dressed down even more than Dean “’Sup, bitches?!” she enthused on stage. Most audience members glanced at each other warily, but a few burst into laughter. “I’m Charlie Bradbury, and I call my collection Steampunk Princess. It’s a celebration of nerdom and all my favorite things geek and sundry. Enjoy!”

Dean didn’t understand a couple of items in Charlie’s collection, like the garish golden gladiator costume. At one point, she’d used greaves rather than pants. Her signature look, a silver and green warrior princess dress, appeared in the middle of the collection. Dean liked it a lot.

And that was it. The whole show.

They would now return to Parsons for the judging panel.

Dean gulped.

xxxxxxxxxx

Back at Parsons, the designers assembled on stage, their models from the season standing next to them while wearing the signature looks.

“Congratulations,” Heidi said when the judging panel began. “All of you put on a fantastic show today.”

“It’s one of the most impressive finale shows we’ve seen on this program,” Zachariah concurred.

“Yes, we were very impressed,” Naomi added. “You presented us with four different collections with distinct points of view.”

“You’ve made our decision tough,” Heidi declared.

“Which we appreciate,” Naomi voiced. “This is a worthy final four.”

“Let’s talk about your finale collections,” Heidi commenced. “Starting with you, Bela.”

“Oh, wow,” Bela exhaled. “Okay.”

“I liked how you used the feathers. They added a subtle touch here and there. I liked that all the feathers were white; it tied everything together nicely. And this dress here covered with feathers—” Heidi gestured at Bela’s model. “—It’s tastefully done. I love it.”

“Yes, that dress makes your model look like a goddess,” Zachariah agreed. “I like that you created many types of garments—you have about the same amount of dresses, jumpsuits, skirt-and-top ensembles, and so on. You used plain colors, but your designs are anything but plain. They’re sleek; they’re sophisticated. The pieces are very much now, but they’re also timeless, which is not an easy balance to strike.”

“Your collection certainly was impressive,” Naomi opined, “but it was also occasionally kind of hokey. Like when you had the woman put a feather behind her ear. It’s a little too precious for my taste.”

“It was a great collection,” the guest judge, Jody, put in. “I think it’s the least creative one we saw, but it’s also the most polished. It has the widest demographic appeal, too.”

“Dean, let’s talk about your collection,” Heidi continued.

“All right,” Dean muttered, his mouth dry. What if they ripped his collection to shreds? They’d claimed to like every collection, but still. Didn’t mean they wouldn’t have trenchant criticism to offer. He’d worked so hard on every piece, and each one meant so much to him. He didn’t know if he could stand to hear the judges ridicule the designs.

“It’s definitely different,” Heidi continued. “Your voice clearly comes through. I’m usually not a fan of plaid, but I found myself liking all the plaid elements in your collection. And that plaid jumpsuit you included—it was surprisingly chic. It could’ve been overwhelming; it could’ve been tacky, but you didn’t overstep that line. Oh, and I _love_ that leather gown Cassie’s wearing. Good job.”

“Frankly, I didn’t like everything in your collection,” Zachariah spouted. “Those rose-colored overalls, for example. In chiffon? They were hideous.” He shuddered. “And I do think that jumpsuit Heidi mentioned was too much. I liked the dresses with the neckerchiefs, though. And that leather gown is _exquisite_. It’s glamor with an edge.”

“I’m not sure what I think about the concept of hillbilly chic,” Naomi threw in. “But you did make plaid look chic. Not an easy thing to accomplish.”

“Like Heidi and Zachariah, I love that blue gown,” Jody ended with. “I’m from South Dakota myself, so I understand what you were trying to accomplish with this collection, and I think you succeeded. Personally, I liked the overalls with the cardigan. It’s something I haven’t seen before. You’re definitely creative, and I look forward to seeing more of your work in the industry.”

“Thank you,” Dean replied, flattered. An established designer, one he admired, had just implied he could excel in the fashion world.

He wasn’t dreaming, right?

“Castiel,” Heidi called, “let’s move on to your collection.”

“Okay,” Castiel said, flashing a tentative smile.

“I think it was the most evocative collection we saw today. It reaches down and really tears at your emotions. I could actually feel the pain and hope radiating off of the clothes, and that is amazing. Being able to accomplish that is a rare feat. I liked this three-layer jacket.” She waved at Anna. “It could’ve been too much, but you wisely paired it with a simple top and pants. There’s a delicacy to all your clothes, even within the darker elements.”

“I personally found this jacket too much,” Zachariah offered. “Your designs do provoke strong emotional responses, but not in a good way. Frankly, they make me question your sanity.”

The other judges gaped at Zachariah, appalled, as did Charlie, Dean, and even Bela. Cas looked like he wanted to disappear. Dean squeezed his bicep and gave him a reassuring glance.

“What?” Zachariah murmured.

“I think you’re being a little drastic,” Jody explained. “Castiel, your clothes are works of art. I feel like they should be in a museum. But they’re also wearable, and that combination is mind boggling and more than impressive. It’s ingenious.”

“Castiel, I did find your designs disturbing,” Naomi admitted. “But I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Your designs are darkly beautiful. My favorite look was the body hugging, floor-length black lace dress you included in the middle of the show.”

“Charlie, let’s talk about your collection,” Heidi declared. Charlie smiled and nodded nervously. “It was certainly the most unusual one out there today. Sometimes it was too much for my eye to take in, like that shiny gladiator outfit. But I liked many of your looks, too. Especially this dress here.” She gestured at Charlie’s model.

“It was too much for me,” Zachariah said. “Sorry. But it was still interesting.”

“I can definitely see your love for steampunk,” Naomi added. “I liked many of your unusual embellishments, like the metal lining in the skirt. Or was that a kilt?”

“It was a kilt,” Charlie confirmed.

“Yes, I liked that. But the gladiator design Heidi mentioned.—I’m sorry, but it’s ugly. Too garish.”

“I enjoyed your collection very much,” Jody concluded. “You bring a fresh vibe to the fashion world, Charlie, and you represent a neglected segment of the market. I love how whimsical your collection was. And its exuberance.”

“Thanks,” Charlie squeaked.

“All right,” Heidi said. “We have a lot to discuss. Please wait in the designers’ lounge while we deliberate.”

The four designers drifted backstage, where Dean tried not to throw up as he wondered how long the judges would take.

xxxxxxxxxx

It seemed like the judges took forever. No one spoke backstage, too nervous about the outcome. But finally, eventually, they were called back on stage.

“As you know,” Heidi resumed, “in fashion, one day you’re in, and the next day you’re out. You are all extremely talented designers, but only one of you can be the winner of _Project Runway_. It was difficult to choose just one winner, but we have made our decision.

“Charlie. We love your quirkiness and enthusiasm. But you are not the winner of _Project Runway_.” That meant Charlie was fourth.

Charlie nodded and smiled. “Thank you for this opportunity. It’s been real.” She whispered good luck to each of the other designers as she exited the stage.

“Dean.” _Oh, shit, here goes._ “We love how eagerly you embrace your untraditional background, but you are not the winner of _Project Runway_.”

Dean forced a grin. He’d known he probably wouldn’t win, and third place wasn’t bad. That didn’t keep him from feeling disappointed, though. “Thanks for having me here,” Dean parted with. “I appreciate the opportunity y’all gave me.”

So the winner would either be Bela or Cas, Dean reflected, as he sought out his family backstage.

“How’d you do?” Sam asked. “Did you win?”

Dean shook his head. “Nah.”

“Damn. I’m sorry, Dean.”

“It’s all right. I feel lucky to have made it this far.”

Sam, Jess, and Bobby hugged him, and after an awkward moment, Dad did the same. “Good job, son,” Dad whispered into his ear as they embraced.

Wow. He’d never thought he’d hear Dad say that; Dad had always strongly opposed his penchant for fashion.

A minute later, Cas appeared. “What happened?” Dean inquired.

Cas shrugged. “Bela won.”

“Seriously?! You were robbed!” Before he’d asked Cas the question, however, he’d known the answer. Usually, the winner remained onstage, where their friends and family met them for a celebration.

But if Cas had won, only Dean would’ve celebrated onstage with him. Meg hadn’t been able to come, and Cas had no one else. It would’ve been a paltry spectacle. Bela, on the other hand, had her parents and a couple of friends present. That was probably why she’d been chosen.

Cas’s lips turned up, forming a small smile. “Taste is subjective. Besides, I feel as if I have won already. I showed a collection at Fashion Week, and I’m happy with it.” He lowered his voice. “And I have found you. That’s good enough for me.”

“In that case, I win, too, because I found you.”

“We found each other.”

Dean gazed at Cas fondly, and Cas returned the stare.

“Gross!” Sam exclaimed.

“Seriously,” Jess agreed. “Not even Sam and I are that corny.”

Dean flushed. “Shut up.” He reached for his boyfriend, and his lips latched onto Cas’s. Cas returned the kiss, searing hot, and Dean kinda just wanted to shove him against the wall and rip off his shirt. Except, you know. Company was present. Cas eventually pulled back, and Dean most definitely did not release an involuntary whine at the loss.

“Do you have to do that in front of me?” Dad complained. “It’s offensive.”

“Get over it,” Bobby spat.

“It was a little much,” Jess teased. “I almost felt like I was watching a porno.”

Cas paled. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“I’m not,” Dean retorted. “You know how many times I’ve had to watch you and Sam suck each other’s faces off?”

“Touché,” Jess acknowledged.

Dean slung an arm around Cas’s shoulders. “Now, how about you and I get outta here?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Cas replied. Dean couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Just another one of Cas’s endearing qualities.

Dean hadn’t won _Project Runway_ , but he did get to keep Cas. That was more important.

It made Dean feel whole, even if they were both broken in a few places.


	12. Epilogue

_One Year, Six Months Later_

Cas and Dean moved into a small apartment in New York not long after their season of _Project Runway_ ended. Two months later, Charlie and her girlfriend Dorothy also relocated to the city.

Soon, they began collaborating with Charlie on plans to open a boutique together. They’d sell designs from all three of their labels: Charlie’s Berry Bradbury, Cas’s Celestial Grace, and Dean’s Hillbilly Chic. Charlie proposed that they each occupy their own little area in the boutique: Charlie’s Ship, Cas’s Corner, and Dean’s Den. The names were pretty corny, but Cas and Dean liked them all the same.

They spent forever trying to come up with a name, finally settling on the unimaginative CCD’s.

After that, they hustled to raise capital for the business, find a space to rent, and decorate the interior.

In one hour, CCD’s would hold its grand opening.

They’d invited all their friends, including those from _Project Runway._ Glancing around the shop, Dean spotted Cole and his boyfriend Kit along with Hannah and her daughter Caroline. Gabriel lounged about while Bela and Jo lingered nearby. Bela had put her winnings to use right away, showing in several Fashion Week venues around the globe and starting her own design studio in Manhattan. She’d even hired Jo as an intern.

Meg hugged Castiel and congratulated him on the boutique. Sam and Jess told Dean how proud they were of him. Dad and Bobby had been invited as well, but Dad had refused to come since he still frowned upon Dean’s relationship with Cas (even if he had grudgingly accepted it). Bobby had fallen ill yesterday and couldn’t travel as a result.

Perhaps it was just as well that Dad wasn’t here. Dean was already nervous enough.

Not because of the boutique’s grand opening.

That was a trifle compared to his real concern.

He was proposing to Cas.

In less than an hour.

He wanted to hurl.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

But Sam would never let him live it down if he chickened out, and he did want to marry Cas.

More than anything.

When he’d set eyes on that dorky, awkward blue-eyed designer in JFK Airport over a year ago, he never could’ve imagined what the future had held. If a fortuneteller had shown him this day, he would’ve laughed in their face.

He never could’ve foreseen that Cas would mean so much to him.

After the trio served light refreshments to their guests, everyone gathered around the checkout counter, where Charlie had strung a red ribbon that stretched to the wall. She handed the scissors to Dean, whom she’d promised could cut the ribbon. She winked at him, and Dean attempted to quiet his nerves. She knew his plan—only she and Sam did. She vibrated with excitement as Dean knelt beside the ribbon.

“Dean?” Cas ventured. “Why are you kneeling? You do not need to do that while you cut the ribbon.”

Dean swallowed and glanced at Sam, who flashed him a thumbs up. Dean dropped the scissors to the floor, and Cas frowned down at him, confused. Dean reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a small polished wooden box.

“Cas,” he croaked. He winced at the sound that came out of his mouth and cleared his throat. “Um. I don’t know how to say this . . . sorry if I sound like a moron. Just. Um. I love you so much. When I think about my life, I can’t imagine it without you by my side. You’re it for me.—This I know. And I want to, y’know. Formalize that commitment. Be yours forever, and you can be mine forever, too. So, please. Cas. Will you marry me?” He flipped open the box and proffered the plain silver band to Cas.

Cas clapped his hands to his mouth. “Dean,” he whispered. It sounded loud amongst the quiet now surrounding them. “Are you serious?”

Dean offered a shaky smile. “’Course I am. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Cas breathed as his eyes watered. “Yes, Dean. The answer’s yes.”

“Awesome!” He reached for Cas’s hand and slipped the ring onto a slim finger, brushing his lips over the second knuckle before releasing the hand. Cas extended the hand toward Dean, and Dean allowed Cas to pull him to his feet. Cas gave him barely a second to regain his bearings before shoving him against the counter, plastering his lips onto Dean’s, and pressing their bodies flush together.

“Hey, save it for the bedroom!” Gabriel gibed while Meg initiated a chorus of catcalls. Dean flipped them the finger, and Gabriel chortled.

Cas drew back and smirked. “Perhaps Gabriel is right.”

“Nah.”

“Congratulations!” Jess called. She clapped, and soon everyone else was joining her.

“Yes. Congratulations,” Bela echoed once the applause had simmered down. Maybe Dean was hallucinating, but he could’ve sworn he’d seen Bela, cool-as-a-cucumber Bela, swipe at something beneath her eyes.

“Are you crying, Bela?” Dean marveled.

“Shut up,” she mumbled. Everyone chuckled. “You’re imagining things.”

Dean was sure that wasn’t the case, but he decided not to rag her about it. He was too busy staring into the eyes of his husband-to-be.

“No one’s cut the ribbon yet,” Cole observed.

“I’ll do it!” Charlie exclaimed. She retrieved the scissors, and Cas threw an arm around Dean and steered him around so he was facing Charlie. She snipped the ribbon, and everyone cheered.

“Okay. That’s done,” Charlie said. “Now, I do believe that my two associates require some time alone. They’ll be off, but I’ll be here to keep this shindig going.”

“We don’t have to leave yet, Charlie,” Cas objected.

“Yeah, but you’ve got some celebrating to do.” She raised her eyebrows at the guests. “Am I right?”

“Totally!” Gabriel agreed.

“We’ll see you later,” Hannah agreed.

The others bodily pushed Cas and Dean out of the store. They stood awkwardly for a minute until Dean suggested, “Now, why don’t I take my future husband home and ravish him?”

A wicked glint entered Cas’s eye. “Who says you will be doing the ravishing?”

Damn, Cas’s low voice went straight to Dean’s dick, especially when he said things like that.

“Is that a challenge?” Dean countered.

“If you would like it to be.”

Dean licked his lips and grinned. “You’re on.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Excerpts from a _Project Runway_ forum:

_RunwayFiendXOX: “Season 14 fan-favorite Castiel Novak and fellow designer Dean Winchester vow to tie the knot.” See the link for the full article. Discuss!_

_NYCChick444: Aw! I knew they were for real!_

_KYSouthernBelle: They are totes adorable._

_VixenVixen22: It’s fake. Just a couple more famewhores trying to extend their 15 minutes._

_TeflonGuru: Vixen is right. How much you wanna bet they broadcast the wedding live on TV?_

_NYCChick444: No way. Castiel is an intensely private person._

_TeflonGuru: It’s an act. Haven’t you ever read his ex’s tell-all?_

_DivaDesigner: TeflonGuru, are you talking about Balthazar? Cause that guy’s a major asshole. I know a friend who has a friend who says her friend slept with Balthazar while he and Castiel were still dating. He lied about the whole thing._

_VixenVixen22: Famewhores attract famewhores. Obviously._

_RacyTracy: Just cause Balthazar’s a douche doesn’t mean he lied._

_DivaDesigner: Did you not read what I said?_

_TeflonGuru: Just a buncha rumors._

_RunwayFiendXOX: No matter what you think, you’ve gotta admit they look cute together._

_CarrieHeinlein: Well, I’m happy for them. They deserve each other._

_TeflonGuru: Yeah, Carrie. Leave the famewhores be, I say. Who cares about those losers?_

_CarrieHeinlein: They’re not famewhores._

_KYSouthernBelle: You tell em, Carrie!_

_CarrieHeinlein: I wish them nothing but the best. You know what I think would be a good idea? Let’s send them an e-card congratulating them. Anyone can sign. You can even use your screen name. Just let them know how much you love them and how happy you are. Here’s the link._

_TeflonGuru: I’ll tell them what I think all right._

_CarrieHeinlein: No hate. I’ll be deleting those._

_Queenie1128: Thanks for the link, Carrie. What a lovely thought! I’ve signed._

_Pea_in_a_princess: Me, too._

_KYSouthernBelle: Me, three. So many signatures already! They’ll definitely feel the love._ _:)_


End file.
